the pin

i roll off from the table

landing in a box filled with hay

finally, i think

i’ve found my rightful place

then i look around

the strings of hay

entangling themselves 

i bend myself to fit them

i belong here

yes

i fit them all

my form glints in the sun

a shine that could not be mistaken

but i can’t help but feel

feel….

insecure

i bend amongst them

but this metal of mine will

never compare to their flexible threads

What are you saying?

You must not think in such

a manner.

Your metal is precious,

a gift that should be regarded.

You do not bend like them, 

but you,

you do it in your own manner.

stop.

i look up at the blue sky

so close but distant 

i reach out toward the heavens 

oh, my

my Lord

tell me

how should i feel

i am met with the sound of silence

the soft song of the wind

i continue to bend

regardless

of what i think

regardless 

of what this mind of mine

tells me.