What Makes You BeautifulYou're the best I ever had
The kindest most loving girl
You have a wonderful personality
The sweetest girl I've ever met.
You care about everyone,
you have such a big heart.
Your touch is so gentle
Your embrace so warm
Your kisses so absolutely wonderful
Your skin and hair so super soft.
You've such an adorable smile
And beautiful, large brown eyes
They're oh so deep, absolutely mezmerizing
I can get lost in them so easily.
Your laugh is the most
Beautiful thing I've ever heard
And your smile lights up the room
And wipes my tears away.
You're the most beautiful girl
I have ever met, in so many different ways,
And these things and so much more
Are exactly what makes you beautiful.
Matter Over MindMatter over mind
And my brain will be more kind.
I'll fight 'till I win
I won't end up in a looney bin.
I will have to implore
Until my OCD is out the door.
I won't give up on me
But I want everything to let me be.
Meds and drugs can be a help
But oo much of those make me yelp.
This struggle shouldn't be daily.
I just want to shout "Give up, Kaylee!"
This won't be forever,
Never say never!
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder
If only every time mind was over matter I had a quarter.
I'd be rich.
Slowly, I took out the chest and popped it open, running my hand across its dark surface. It was about time.
"Benjamin," I said softly as I straightened, looking around the attic.
"Here are eight things you probably think I wouldn't remember:
"1. You almost never untie your shoes; you just slip them off and on as you please, even though it dents the heels."
I gathered his sketches and wound a string around them.
"2. You always sleep on the right side of the bed."
I gathered them in my arms, slipped them inside his sketchbook, and set it inside the trunk next to the framed sketch of the rabbit and the blackbird.
"3. You're afraid of being alone in the dark."
I took his family's photograph out of its broken frame.
"4. You've always wanted to learn how to play the harmonica because the sound always made your little brother smile."
I dusted it off, wrapped it in tissue paper, and put it in next to his sketchbook.
"5. You have a secret freckle in-between your pinky an
Star-writHear me read it!
It is nebulonic fate that we should dance
together in this burning bald ballroom
as the flames lick up the sepiatic walls
and drip curled paper down upon us.
It is our right to spin each other here
in the torrentous reign of flames and ash
as the chandelier, already hanging,
spits and sparks at us, trying to take us too;
and as everything we ever loved or cherished
in porcelain veneer or hand-crafted sycamore
crumbles to a close, still the thought remains-
that it is our star-writ fate to dance on.