Anxiety

Anxiety is Like a Rubber Band

stretched and slacked, your soul
weakened with every pull.
It’s rocking in a chair without
rhythm: a few squeaks
and a stop. It’s a callous child,
a slow emptiness, a timid ghost
who couldn’t hinder a house to
save his soul. You hear words
muttered and isolate them,
repeat them, save them
on your heart. They become
a mantra, justified and true.
Your shoestring confidence
becomes kindling. The words scarf
up the pride that drops behind
you, as you’re limping toward
a scream. When they finally
stop talking you turn around,
pick up the pieces, wrestle
the few bits you can from
their arms. You go home
and start sewing
yourself back together.