Raw

Her feelings came too bold, too raw,

They labeled them a kind of flaw, 

So she grew quiet, watched her tone,

And carried storms she’d face alone.

She learned it young, in quiet ways,

To earn her place with shrinking praise, 

That being good meant being small,

And never needing much at all.

She trained her smile to hide the ache,

And gave more room than she could take,

She learned to read what wasn’t said,

And blamed herself for things she read.

She knew the truth but played it down,

Too used to things that made her drown,

She smiled when things began to slip,

And held his name with trembling grip.

She did her best to keep him close,

But lost herself in holding both,

And somewhere deep, her body knew,

This wasn’t love that she’d live through.

Cathrine Hottran 2025