My Brain Is a Pincushion

My doctor never told me that my brain is a pincushion

A million pins jammed into keyholes that don’t always fit

unsheath one and my soul could bleed out

twist one, maybe I’ll grin or grit

Jam one in, you’ll impale my soul

I’m born with those pins

Frights and fights have made them sprout

I can’t touch them

Some of my lobes are Pandora’s Boxes

I can’t risk letting out the demons

But what if there’s an angel inside that needs to be liberated?

Or do I keep the secret angel with me?