The Creak of My Door

You roll your eyes, blink them with sass a million times a day,

And no matter how much you try to grow up fast,

The innocence in them still has a lot to say.

I am not a mind reader, fortune teller, or someone who fixes things with ease—

You see, much like you, I stumble through my own foolish decrees.

The glint of mischief or the dewy nostalgia I see in your gaze,

With a hint of doubt, a dash of hesitation, and sometimes curiosity’s blaze.

I hold myself back from rushing to solve your troubles,

For I know the worth in watching you rise from the rubbles.

You don’t get enough credit for the profound questions you pose,

You know grief, you know sorrow, you know when fear overflows.

I see your shy eyes glance away, my presence just a shadow in the corridor,

Yet I’ve etched plans in my mind, weaving your stories into my own folklore.

At best, I’m your best-kept secret, perhaps even a moment you regret,

But when I hear the creak of my door,

My gratitude is never bereft.

And before you leave, you whisper a sorry for ever having to feel—

Please know, your burdens were never meant to be yours alone to heal.

~ Tanisha Jhajj