Je suis stupide

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The prick of a pin,
Just on your finger;
You lack a thimble,
And so you suffer;
Over and over,
As you sew fabric;
Over and over,
The prick of a pin

Eventually,
The pain starts to dull;
Not as painfully,
You pull the thread, pull;
And after more time,
Though you're accustomed
Thimble prevents it,
Eventually

After some more time,
The pin goes to rest;
Into a desk draw'r,
Stored - it's for the best;
Even though sometimes,
You prick yourself still,
Thimble and draw'r help,
After some more time

Asked ChatGPT for a poetry prompt and got: "Write a poem about a forgotten pin, buried in a drawer, that holds memories of a distant event. Reflect on the emotions and stories it carries, and how it connects to the present moment." I decided to use it as a metaphor for grief. It's bad at first, but over time it heals and one gets ways to deal with it; eventually, it doesn't affect one as much, but it's still very much there.

Full disclosure, I also asked ChatGPT for things about syllables and what rhymes with x word, but I don't deem that important enough to cite every last thing it said.

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