The ******* which bore the oyster
The meats, the cheese, the cider
It always seemed to annoy her
Deep within her mind's dark cloister
The cost of one was the cost of all
A pity to pick and choose
An oyster with no *******
(nor meat nor cheese nor cider)
And lights'd be on for rent.
Or meat and cheese and cider
(No oyster shucked over a golden cent)
And not just lights, but groceries too.

You're the calm in the sea of chaos
You're the light at the end of a tunnel
You're the first raindrop in a desert
You're the rainbow on a gloomy weather
You're the smile on my face
You're the sparkle in my eyes
You're the song I want to hear
But you're the sand in an oyster
A debris that makes a nacre
You inflict pain, yet produce something beautiful like a pearl

It takes heat to open an oyster,
or a knife(or time).
Humans are enough like oysters, I suppose,
but they don’t need pain to bring out their full potential—
they do need time.
Time takes too long for some,
and pain is an easy alternative;
forgoing sleep and forgetting to eat,
distance from loved ones,
pushing and pushing and pushing and—
a pearl.

I wrote something I couldn't share
I put it in a special place
And hidden, let it die there,
Just like him, just like me.
That worst case scenario they'll never see
The darkest demons don't need light
To make you see their light of day,
So I took them from within me
Riped them out and locked them in a box
Without a single key and drowned them
In a pool the kids use to play.
Now all that's talked of there
Is an accident then conversation fades.

Like oysters reading words,
I could be a carpenter building herds
To come and read the writs I wrote
Until all eaten on a solemn note.

All those moons ago
I plucked a stone from shore
and whispered my intention
with each waxing and waning.
I took it back to the sound today,
intending to sing a final goodbye
before casting it far into the waves.
It sparkled in the spring sun
then slipped from my fingers
into the sludgy low-tide pool
of barnacles and gooeyducks.
I simply walked away
and watched the gulls drop oysters,
fighting over what belongs to whom.

The waves will carry the stone to sea
the same way the green has returned
like the green in me.
A gentle and abrupt easing -
A slip out to sea with the tide.

the world is
my oyster
they say.
yet,
why has my life
produced no pearls?
only tears
and gritty sand
polluting the land
around me.

the world may be your oyster,
...
but keep in mind that some of us are allergic to shellfish.

{d.f. | 12/07/17}