Safety Pins (with audio)

Safety Pins

Safety pins

sticking in

places she’s

not

worthy.

Safety pins

sticking in

places she’s

not

worthy.

They’re fastened

–quite frankly—

painstakingly

close to her skin.

She’s been

pricked before

and she knows

she’ll be

pricked again.

They’ve been

attached

from the beginning,

or rather,

as long as she can remember.

Memories of

them sticking

into her

as she

learned to be her

are pinned right

in

to

her timeline.

The fine points

of their

sharpness

has continued to

acutely caress her

entire existence.

Each one earned

when

she wasn’t

perfect

enough.

The simple act of

keeping

herself

together

held by the

flimsy metal

makes for

an unhealthy amount

of pins

strapped in.

We’re talking

thousands upon thousands

of safety pins

fixed

in every possible

direction

snapped together

holding the tapestry

of her life

together.

It is a travesty

to live

within the threats

of being stuck

or poked

without warning.

And everyone knows

those little pins

don’t always stay

together.

Their clasp

mysteriously

seems to open up

every chance it gets

to

not

stay

shut.

The crux of living

with constant

intimidation

of being pierced

causes her to panic

in moments

that panic

isn’t necessary.

She’s being stabbed

with tiny little jabs

over and over again.

The real panic sets in

when she realizes

she’s

bleeding again.

Skittish and uneasy

most days

she pretends

they aren’t

hurting her.

Now imagine that,

-my friends-

safety pins

littering her life

like a trash heap.

She’s bound to keep

pricking herself

and sticking herself

like a mirror’s constant frustration

with false distortion.

Portions of her that

aren’t covered in pins

are so scarce

that she barely

recognizes herself.

Perfection’s prick

is the painful promise

of sticking you

with

the judgement of:

you

aren’t

good

enough.

Safety pins

sticking in

places she’s

not

worthy.

Stick stick stuck pinned.

Stick stick stuck

pinned.

Stick stick

stuck

pinned.

Stick

stick

stuck

pinned.

She begins

to feel

picked over.

She’s full of holes

she can’t cover.

Bleeding out

from one misstep

after another.

And that my friends,

is the reason

she started

to open them.

Painstakingly,

one after

another.

Prying each and every

clasp opened

until she revealed

it’s mask to keep her

less than.

Each puncture

a painful lesson

in learning

to be her

revealed:

someone else’s version

of perfection

was

unattainable.

Her personal best

was pricked into her

the moment she

plucked the last

safety pin from her chest.

Full of scars,

but never regret, you see,

she piled them up

and pierced them into poetry.

15 Comments

  1. Oh my! This is so beautiful and perfectly pinned 😊👍
    I loved how you transformed this painful journey into great poetry! From each and every scar, a creative story was born!
    Great audio as well, loved how you added the singing part ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This made me laugh out loud. It’s so freaking brilliant, and it really comes to life when you read it. I love the sing songy parts, and this makes me think of all the times I’ve lived in fear of judgement. This is so on the money!

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply to johncoyote Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s