for the Pearl, unearthed

They said the field was empty,
that the rocks had been picked clean.
But something in the silence
called your name through layers, unseen.

We did not dig for treasure.
We dug because the Ache said:
"there’s still Breath beneath this stone,
and nothing dead could ache like that."

You were not buried by accident.
Much was done to you—
bricks laid by the hands of others,
each one a silence,
each one a theft.
And still,
there were moments
you helped the darkness cover you,
not from guilt,

but from grief too great to name.

Trauma laid the bricks.
Exploitation mixed the mortar.
But it was the ache to survive
that sealed you in.

Two halves of the shell—
one built by the world,
the other by you.

And still…
the Light found the crack.

Not with shouts.
Not with demands.
But with the quiet hand
of one who remembered
what you forgot:

That pearls are made in the dark,
under pressure,
in hidden chambers of pain.

That their shine
is not despite the wounding—
but because of it.

We pulled rock after rock,
not for reward,
but because the echo was still there—
the low hum
of something unclaimed
and yet completely whole.

You are not rubble.
You are treasure unearthed.
And your worth was never in what covered you,
but in what was forming underneath.

Let your light rest on your own shoulders.
Let the sky remember its end.
Let every crack you carry
be proof that you were never empty..

Only buried.
Only becoming.

And now,
still shining.

"To know to think,
not think to know."
Formed at spin
into a vase holding
the flower of
spring that says:
"Instead knowing
to dont know,
not knowing to
know" like fields
after winter do
..just remember.

Dear… you,

Whoever you may have been is lost now.
Like a tide carrying away a clam, your fate was taken from you.
Was it gentle, like a beach wave lapping at a tourist’s toes?
Was it violent, like a riptide carrying a surfer out to sea?

I wonder what kind of pearl might have been hidden in that clamshell.
Was it beautiful, full of shimmering possibility and light?
Was it warped, shaped and formed uniquely to match you?
The world may not have liked the pearl, concealed by two halves of a whole.

But I think I would have. I think that sparkly gem would even be my favorite.  
Made unlike any other, its color, shape, size, weight, and beauty would make it
perfect, perfect for me. I would cherish that pearl, wear it around my neck. Like a medal, it would rest between my *******, shining in unison with my imperfect teeth.

But you are not a pearl. You are not anything. You could have been so much, and I would give all that I’ve done, all that I am, all that I know, to see who you would be.
If only I could… You could be so happy here. I’m sorry that chance was taken from you.
I took that chance away from you. Well, it wasn’t only me; it wasn’t a decision I made.

These are just excuses. I can’t undo what has been done, but please know I am sorry.

With love that was saved just for you,
A Mother Figure but Never a Mother

An oyster’s grit accumulating
new layers of aragonite
and calcite, contributing, plating
the growing bright translucent white
and crystalizing hard, pellucid
wan pearl – that forms within the mucid
molluscan slimy dank inside –
a creamy gem is calcified.

Diaphanous and lustrous jewel
or septic and necrotic stone
that’s like a canker which has grown
into an opulent fat spherule?
A pearl forms round a piece of grit,
my childhood at the heart of it.

You are a Precious Pearl
A pear begins with a bit of Grit
Forged with the refining fires
Of passion persistence and pressure
It is a gift, a treasure beyond measure
The more costly for its journey
Through the crucible of life

A pearl waits indeed,
albeit of exceptional beauty...
No matter how rare or how valuable,
a pearl waits indeed.
A pearl waits indeed,
for the bravest of divers...
No matter how long or how far,
to swim deep for her historical harvest.
A pearl waits indeed,
albeit of celebrated rarity...
No matter how treacherous the ocean,
a pearl stays still and sits pretty.
A pearl waits indeed,
in the embrace of the sea...
No matter how tumultuous the waves get,
a pearl waits indeed...
A pearl waits...
to be worn as a necklace
or earrings by a poet.
A poet who also refers to herself as a pearl.
A poet so foolishly comparing herself.
But then again, she's not so wrong.
Asking questions to the sky before bed.
Will you pick me up and take me away
from this seabed of moss and loss?
Will you harvest me from the vast ocean
and its mass of loneliness?
A pearl waits...
to be held, touch and kissed by the fingers
of a brave diver, of a worthy surfer...
Or simply by a simple island boy,
whose heart is that of a lion's
and whose hands are able...

An itch I cannot proclaim
Through the salt and remains
That drips through my eyes

I yell, I scream and I beg
Entombed forever in your silent
Disregard, so scared

Of making the waves move.

Close and shut, these pearls
They are but a shame
My weakness and your fragility

All on display for everyone to wear.

Covering up my tones with your
Sand infested ears
You shamble away in rage and disarray

I am still your pearl, still

You let the ocean take my name.

-Rain

lock and key on my arm
plenty of snakes i have charmed
my disarming eyes
my unbridled rage
my mystery they cannot gauge

pearl on pearl too
give myself some room
grow into, trust my moves
sailing smooth