This chair is making me shrink.
In my calves, in my thighs I can feel it.
I’m growing a hair’s breadth shorter.
It’s a death to do nothing but sit.

This chair is making me tight.
In my back, in my arms I can sense it
My bones are forgetting their rhythms
I’ll be turning to mud in a bit.

This chair is making me dull.
In my fingers and toes I can name it
My blood oozes on in frustration.
I chomp an invisible bit.

This chair is making me blank.
In my eyes and my mind I do fear it.
I hear the sun calling my name
Under each monotonous clock tick.

This chair is making me shrink.
I better break the chair into pieces
Better run through the wild grass fields
Better tackle the nephews and nieces.

I know that we’re all slowly dying
Of the inevitable fate I’m aware
But I’ll not go out without trying
To get out of this god-cursed chair!

But alas it’s my job to just sit here.
Stagnant, with nothing to do.
So I’ll write up a quick ode to freedom
In the hopes it will inspire you!