Post-It
Pastel pieces of paper littering the floor
Notes, lists, worries, and more
It’s called OCD and I couldn’t find rest
In therapy, workshops, books, or meds
Poetry provided the outlet I need
To release the tensions inside of me
Rhythm and rhyme gave order to my life
That was run by irrational thoughts and strife
The Post-It notes still litter the ground
But read them and hear a more pleasant sound
Thank you poetry for the rest I craved
It is through you that I truly was saved
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