I’m a woman, so I’ve learned to speak in whispers,
to press my tongue down, hold my breath, bury my voice,
to tuck my rage behind careful lines, to keep my voice soft,
just enough to blend in, just enough to get by.
They taught me silence. Quiet dignity of shrinking small,
smiling like a secret, swallowing fire for the sake of peace.
But damn, I’m done folding myself into something tidy and meek,
done pretending my voice is a loaded weapon I should never release.
I want to tear through this world with everything I’ve buried,
I want my words to be a storm no one can outrun.
Gods, I crave a microphone like lightning craves an open sky,
give me a stadium, give me a crowd to drown,
let me spill every word I swallowed down,
let me scream the things I kept hidden under my breath.
I want to shatter glass ceilings and crystal floors,
to leave echoes in places they thought were safe,
shout it from the rooftops, paint it on the walls—
I’ll tattoo my truth on the air, make ‘em hear me raw.
Hear it bleed through the speakers,
heavy and sharp, the sound of every word they told me to swallow.
My voice will haunt you, will paint your skin,
smoke your lungs
Ink-soaked through paper.
I’ll be the anthem that seeps into your mind,
the ghost in the crowd that you can’t shake off,
the thunder in your chest that keeps you awake,
the fire in your bones, unstoppable and wild.
I’ll be the crack in the foundation you can’t repair,
the echo of everything you ignored for too long,
my voice reminds you I’m still here,
I was always here, dying to be heard.
I’ll be the ghost in the crowd you’ll never forget,
the thunder that rattles in your bones,
the fire you thought you could control—
the voice you can’t erase
I will haunt you in the dark, in the light, the in-between.
I’ll sing till the walls shake, till the earth quakes,
Silence is a prison that cannot contain me
