The Safety Pin

 


The Safety Pin

We do not fasten what is torn—
but what we fear might someday be.
Not cloth, but calm — a sense, forlorn,
That even stillness hides a plea.

It clasps not thread, but quiet doubt,
A tremble stitched beneath our grace.
We carry it, within, without,
A silent anchor just in case.

We pin not fabric, but the fear
That something small will come undone—
The thread unnoticed, drawing near
To tug apart what we had spun.

We pin because we once have known
The hush that falls when seams give way.
We carry it not quite alone—
But with the ache to seem okay.

So when the world feels faint, unclear,
We reach for what we cannot name—
A safety pin—small, sharp, sincere—
That holds together what we claim.

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