Hyper Vigilance is Exhausting

The Weight of Watchful Eyes

Their eyes flick quick, a darting glance,

A silent check, a second chance.

Reading rooms like weathered maps,

Tracing moods in furrowed gaps.

A twitch of lips, a subtle sigh,

A glance too short, a breath drawn high—

Is someone hurt? Is someone cross?

They measure warmth, they gauge the loss.

They step in soft, they smooth, they mend,

They patch the cracks, they play pretend.

A peacemaker with fraying seams,

Exhausted by their quiet schemes.

A world in balance, held so tight,

Yet every day, a losing fight.

For not all storms can be undone,

And not all battles should be won.

But still they scan, they mend, they mold,

A heavy heart, a weary soul.

For fixing others, time and again,

Leaves little left to self-defend.