i liken myself to a clamshell:
i cannot be opened when you inevitably find me buried in the sand
you may pry
i may even want you to; i do--
i would love nothing more than for you to
scoop me outside of myself so i can see daylight
because i want to show you everything
i am small and calloused, battered about by the waves that brought me to your doorstep
but i hope you'll stay, perhaps i seem promising
and i'd be happy as a clam if you did