Every time I reach breaking point,
I find that I do not break.
Every time I reach the end of my tether,
I find that the tether is made of elastic.
Every time I think in pain I can’t go on,
I find that somehow against the odds, I do.
Sometimes I wish that I might break,
Shattering into a million relieved fragments,
Sparkling like road-crash diamonds
Both beautiful and horrible at once.
I wish that when I feel that collar
Press and pull my aching throat,
That it would snap, burst asunder
And leave me sprawling on the ground.
And I wish more than anything,
That when I feel I can’t possibly go on,
Tired and worn from trying too hard,
I might be given grace and space to stop.