When the Thread Doesn’t Hold

Needle slips, sharp as doubt,

thrusting through frayed cotton and worn dreams.

My fingers clutch the thread—

clumsy, catching on the ragged edge.

Stitches puckered uneven, clinging

like bad promises, dragging the fabric

into small knots of tension and regret.

A prick of skin, sharp and quick,

reminding me I’m still here, fumbling.

Trying to mend the tear with shaky hands,

but the thread twists, unspooling

into quiet failures, crooked lines

where the cloth fights back and won’t stay whole.