1:00 AM or 10:09 AM or The Cage Poem

I sleep with my hand- a cage over my heart
Like the cage in that game Mousetrap we played as kids
Made out of plastic and weak
but somehow strong enough to keep the mouse inside
unable to move
I win you lose

And if you were to ask me why
I would chalk it up to chance
That’s where my hand just happened to land
Or claim that it is to keep my cat from stepping on my piercing while I sleep
She has been known to do such things

But really it’s because I saw you again last night
Another one of our infamous hear-to-hearts
And just as the plastic cage keeps the mouse
My blood and bones in the form of five fleshy iron-wanna-be bars keep my heart from climbing out of my chest
And making its gelatinous way into your broken-glass hands.

They look fine from a distance, sure
So how do I know they are made of broken glass?
Because experience is the best teacher, my friend.
But luckily you didn’t hold it for long
Thinking you were in the middle of a game of hot-potato
You-as if your hand was on fire- quickly and gracelessly
Discarded that with which you were so carelessly trusted
Leaving my precious, mischief-loving heart on your bedroom floor
Where it collected dust
And the footprints of your other lovers for months

It was my fault for not calling her back home sooner.
I think she was confused and thought she was home
Being so used to existing in a stat of catatonic chaos and all
But even if she had realized she was in the line of stiletto fire
She probably still wouldn’t have listened
See, my heart is one persistent mother fucker
And as long is there is a silver moon sliver on a foggy nights shred of hope
She will not let go

I wonder if I could train her
As to who used kid gloves and who collected hearts in the form of one more notch
Teach her to lock herself away in a stony tower
That would rival Rapunzel's
To protect her from all of the slings and arrows
Of unworthy suitors
So that she could remained unscathed and clean
And spend her days waiting

But we all know that love is better when it's dirty
Covered in mud, with scraped knees and smiling
Love should be child-like in its discovery and awe and act accordingly
Love should abound, not be trained or restrained
Love should make its own choices, and hopefully
Next time hers will be better.