Sometimes I sleep with my guitar

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it fills the space.

A mask of vulnerability,
I scheme to pry your heart open like a clamshell.
I think I know you.
My pearl lying sweetly upon the pillow of my heart,
A gift for you.
Cultivated carefully.
Roll and polish it daily
between your fingers.

It's bedtime.
Time to tell secrets in the dark.
I figure you are aware of my exposed chest,
and will notice the pearl,
even though it is difficult to see.
Water stories of lack and lore,
reflect peace.
I listen to your ocean,
help you navigate the wharf,
but when I tell you of mine,
you cut the conversation short,  
grab my neck,
and rub salt into my throat, and my heart.
The pearl breaks like
fine China fragments in slow motion,
an unwanted gift broken before
you noticed the wrapping: Fragile.
I try to smile, blinking salt from my eyes,
I'm fine.
My heart shudders, and shuts down.
I don't even know why I'm crying.
I weep over the fragments of the broken pearl you cannot see...

I turn away as if to go to sleep.
Will I ever find someone worthy
enough to cultivate another pearl.
My eyes flood with water,
you ask what's wrong --
You have no idea.

She is in the department store
rifling through the clothing rack,
inside the dressing room,
at the makeup counter,
purchasing something,
holding many bags
minus the ones under her eyes.

She is orange, with hard rocks
as ****, and curled straws as hair.
She crows like a baby,
someone please help me
swipe my hubby's credit card.
Her breathe precipitating
the bottles of wine she'll drink later,
after complaining she doesn't
look like she's 20.

I want to save him from her,
throwing her hands up scaring everyone.
He is kind and calm and doesn't deserve this.
I wanted to save him years ago, but it wasn't my place.
Now he won't leave.
He'd rather drain his retirement than leave.
He'd rather listen to her blab and watch cable tv than leave.
I want him to leave, but I'd also hate to see him alone.
She makes him happy, even if she's ugly.

He is at the bar
flirting with the girls she hates
staying out until 8
A.M.
double timing with her bestie.

He is scraping by,
stuck in a college town,
the scent of whisky on his breath
as he crawls into bed with her,
apologizing.

I wanted to save her from him.
She is strong and he is weak,
crippled by too many drunk nights
turned into vice.
She is sweet,
her history of
revolving hospital doors,
has mellowed her,
at least someone loves her.

For seven years she didn't leave
I wanted to save her,
but I didn't know how.
She loved him and it wasn't my place.
An outsider, I couldn't believe
the intricacies of their chemistry.
He made her happy, even though he was ugly.

I am an un.
un fit,
un suited,
un worthy,
says the hesitation
that strikes the chords
of their voices.
Even though I know
my spirit is pure,
I am often inside at night,
with a hunk of stale bread
and glass of cabernet.

If spirit were met with as much joy
as knowledge, there would be so many less
un's in the world.
If un certainty as resolute as certainty,
diversity a road less overgrown.
The un familiar flora a familiar feeling,
dark green leafy nets of confident wisdom:
people helping everyone cut through,
even the un's.

But for the un's, life is not this^
Life  is trudging up a desolate hill
with no vegetation and getting
silently pushed down by other people,
who tell you that you're un fit for trudging,
un til you begin to slow down,
un til it gets muddy,
un til you only walk up when they tell you
walking to the top is good for you.

You used to walk to clear your head,

yet you long to be at the top of the hill
any way,
just so you can stop trudging,
just so you can be worth something,
to the shaking heads and closed fists,
perched and looking down
at those below.

Can I borrow your cat?
I heard it meowing at the door:
Please, I need love.

I want a man or a cat tonight.
Just kidding!
I want both.

All we want is to swing
until we want down
down mommy down.