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