Splinters Speaks

They enter through moments you failed to defend,

With voices like splinters too crooked to mend,

They flip all your portraits and sweep out the floor,

Then ask what you’re guarding that’s worth one more war.

They circle your ribs like a song with no tune,

Then lean in and whisper the weight of the moon,

They speak with a silence that shatters the bluff,

Not cruel, just demanding, and never enough.

They speak in the static that hums in your doubt,

The part of your pulse that’s trying to shout,

You don’t want to hear them, too sharp, too aligned, 

But they hand you the self you were begging to find.

Cathrine Hottran 2025