Beneath Your Radar

They speak in tones the air forgets,

Like dust that moves but never sets,

They don’t arrive as an obvious sting,

They’re woven through the wiring.

They echo back from things you trust,

A glance, a laugh, a speck of dust,

You feel them shape the things you hear,

Like fog reshaping atmosphere.

At compliments, you tend to stall,

You scan them for the hidden gall,

The tone was fine. the words were sweet,

But something curled around your feet.

They formed from guesses, not from fact,

Assumptions made and never tracked,

No fists, no flame, no sharpened blade,

Just rules you never knew you made.

They nest in pauses left unsaid,

Like seeds beneath a flowerbed,

They wait until your guard is thin,

Then grow their roots way deeper in.

But if you name them, one by one,

Those shadows cast without a sun,

They lose their shape, their voice, their weight,

And then you learn to dodge old bait.

 
Cathrine Hottran 2025