Door Handles

I used to break door handles,

A habit my parents never cherished. 

Someone would hide behind the door,

And I'd come chasing after them.


The slam of the door 

The click of the lock,

And little ol' me running close behind

Ready to rock.


A challenge before me-

A true test of strength!

Two hands on...

Twist, twist, and crank!


Before you knew it,

I'd be on the other side

Revealing those who had tried

To run and hide.


"I'm here! I'm here!" 

My shouts only raised their fear.

"I don't want to fight."

"I just want you near."


Still though,

Lesson be learned,

To break the door handle

Only made them scramble.


Best to have patience,

Rather than ramble, zamble, bamble.

They're not meant to be 

Broken, scared, and shattered. 


They're meant to be 

Happy, excited, even flattered. 

So just knock, calmly and cooly-

And wait for the door to open to the absolutely.

This poem is about: 
My family
My community
My country


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