Pinned Pain

Foolish, how a tiny pin

can bleed more than a fist.

I jabbed my thumb and the sharp flare

spiked bitter and loud beneath cheap lamplight,

a cruel little star.

The silver tack crooked in cracked drywall,

small as a secret nobody cares about,

but I held the pain too close,

finger throbbing red,

tiny blood a mocking spotlight.

Pain doesn’t have to roar.

It lurks in these pinpricks,

tiny betrayals no one else notices—

so sharp, so stupid.

I pull the tack loose,

wince, and wonder how I didn’t see

this quiet hurt before,

just waiting for me

like a knife in a dull room.