Informed by Trauma

©2026 Steve Gray

We all carry it, some quiet, frayed edge, a shadow tucked behind the collarbone. You have it; we all have it, some level of trauma.

You fiddle and grasp awkwardly at words, stumbling over the syllables of what was, trapped in thoughts and notions about the past. The mind returns to the old blueprints, trying to rewrite what has already burned.

You aim to please, but then again, the reflex stammers. You want to hold, but you fall short. The arms reach, the hands curl, yet the space between remains. You want, but are not sure how.

You beg and plead, and this goes astray: anger rising like ash from cold coals, hollow thoughts echoing through empty rooms, messy business spilling across the floor.

Yet through the angst and the heavy rigour, a sudden, fragile melody takes hold— not to mend the broken glass, but to give the sharp edges a song.