Key

It starts with stares you learn to read,

With rules unspoken, sharp and sweet,

You train your tone to not offend,

And shape yourself to fit pretend.

It builds you up, then makes you pay,

It smiles, then slowly pulls away,

It shames your joy, it mocks your need,

It starves the root before the seed.

You tune your ear to what’s implied,

Then let it choose what lives or dies,

You let it file the words you feel,

Then sign its verdict as your seal.

You guard the law you didn’t write,

Then fear your own escape at night,

You clip your thoughts before they speak,

Then ask yourself why you feel weak.

But truth arrives without a sound, 

You’re not the voice, you’re not the ground,

You are the hand that holds the key,

You always were, and now you see.

Cathrine Hottran 2025