Pull the band taut,
Pull it back, flick it,
Don’t be surprised when it creaks
Under the might of your fingers.
The more you pull me, the less I can give,
The less I can stretch,
The less I can live.

I’ve come to terms with my
Lack of elasticity,
I’ve come to terms with the
Lack of time I have to take
To make
Myself stretch.

I want to grow, but instead I shrink,
Shrivel, break, snap.
Pull it back,
Watch the pieces fly.
I want to, I want to, but this elastic
Has muscle memory,
And it spasms
When I go too far.

I’m made of rubber, and you’re made of glue,
I snap, and you do
What you’ve done all along,
Steadfast, strong.
You make me think
I’m doing it wrong,
And the collective effect
Is that you keep growing,
And I keep shrinking,
And maybe you’re thinking
The same thing as me,
But you look like you know
What you’re doing –
Why not me?

You keep pulling back, inch by inch – does this work?
But I snapped back at inch one,
And it hurts.
It’s one thing to stretch, and never go back.
It’s another thing
To try, and then snap.
No, I don’t want to try again,
I don’t even want to get up.
I’m done.
Put the pieces back down,
I’m trash.

anxiety Poetry society