worth // home base

Worth

I’ve been thinking a lot about worth
It’s intrinsic to all things but intangible in nature

Yet it can be weighed, it can be assessed
It can be developed or it can be invested

It can even appreciate, unless it depreciating 
It’s subjective, except for when it’s objective

It can be claimed, or it can be bestowed
But once branded that value will start to erode 

Are you trash or are you treasure
If it’s treasure, it’s treated as such

If it’s useless, past its purpose, 
We banish it to where it can't hurt us

Home Base

How is it that after all these baseball mitts with big holes in the middle
All I can remember is the web of your palm, the feeling of suede leather lingers
Olive juice tan lines stop just before their pale wrinkly bellies 
cinnamon sticks for fingers
Nails always trimmed, but always dirty, unless that is, you planned on seeing me 
My hands got the closest look, they decided how tight to cling but 
It's not as if being a body makes you good at anatomy
So we sweat too much, it beads up in my brows blinding me 
Why is it, that after all this time, it’s still your hands I see 

Kay is a composer of stories, songs and screenplays. This Los Angeles copywriter is a renaissance woman, classically trained with a cosmopolitan focus. She is a lifelong scrapbooker and has a knack for rendering images on an Etch-a-sketch.