Promise me, my flesh you'll place
'neath a fledgling willow tree.
And as it grows toward blue sky,
It's in its grace you'll hear me cry.
Laden with the heaviest fears,
resembling, reflecting
my darkest years.

A fragile bone was once my arm,
so likened to the willows charm.
It's branches delicate,
could ne'er do harm.
It's soft and fluffy hand like bud,
encased in skin, the willow's wood.

Hold its hand at branches end.
My message, a vibration,
to you I'll send.
Until the death of said willow tree,
reminding you . . . . .
. . . . . . always of me.

Poetry by Kaydee.

Religion is Recruiting for
Customer Complaints.
Where is my God, the disciples
and all the absent saints?
The time I have invested
sitting in your church.
This wasn't in your advert
you've left me in the lurch.
I'm asking for a refund,
you've years to reimburse
and then there is the funeral,
the flowers and the hearse.

I've sat on your pew,
spent time praying to you
and now that I'm dead,
I'm unsure what to do.
I should have known better,
you never replied.
Yet I kept the faith
until the day that I died.

Now I queue to complain,
I must be ******' insane!
because,
well,
you don't even exist!

Poetry by Kaydee.

I’m laying in bed, eating a pizza slice
Wearing my dark flower robe.
My headphones are pumping
Teen Idle
(Marina and the Diamonds)
So funny, when my mother knocks
“I’ve been calling you,”
She says.
I realize now it’s come full circle
I’m able to be a teen again.