My brain is a locked door
and I've misplaced the keys.
Nothing will go in and
nothing substantial will come out.
I've knocked and I've rung,
but all to no avail.
The only response is the letterbox
hurling out junk mail
and words I've used before.

her,
she isn't like the rest.
wearing dark colors,
with the brightest of smiles
dreaming of the day when she fully loves herself
taking time to compliment everyone,
except for the girl in the mirror.
i know she wouldn't believe me
if i told her she's the prettiest lady i've ever seen
she may not be noticed by millions,
or as many people as she'd like to be,
but i notice her,
everyday.