Unbroken

Unbroken UnbrokenI wouldn't know how to describe a painting or a sonata, but I can tellsomeone how I feel, though they rarely know what I mean. Words fail me often,but nobody notices. They aren't listening anyway. One person knows me.When I talk to him I feel like a knife in a drawer, because my words have power.The possible damage would be irreparable.He and I are like a house falling apart. Our sidewalk is askew and ourmailbox is missing. It is painted pink and yellow. We love it, it's unique. Lastnight I stomped my feet through the floorboards because I wanted to feel my toesin the earth. I pushed my hands through the ceiling and kicked down the walls. Iknow he wonders why I do things like that. I just wanted to let some air in. Isaid, 'Look hon, now we can see the stars.'Mind ControlHe brushed off the debris and putme to bed. He won't sleep tonight.His thoughts stay up with the moon trying to exercise the demons in hismind. Too intelligent, too spiritual for his own peace. A shaman, unstu ck intime. A stroke of genius and a slap in the face of this world. Always restless,searching for answers. Impulsive and inspired, writing down his thoughts.Funny stories about Elvis and his followers, the Elvi, or dirty poetry. Paintinghis visions on sheets that hang from the eaves or painting me with psychedelicdesigns. It doesn't matter which. All of it makes me want him more.Some things I say to him are like sour notes played too often. I'm out oftune. He always sings along. Our waltz is better than most, I suppose. Weknow the steps by heart. The world moves...