3. Remember, I Am Him – Lyrics
Power & Authority · Coercion by Design · Photography Industry Abuse · Survival Silence
(Scroll down for lyrics)
This song is different from the ones that come before it—and the ones that come after.
I didn’t write it from my own voice.
I wrote it from his.
Not because I want to give him space, but because I wanted to expose the logic that made what happened feel normal in the moment. The voice in this song isn’t a monster hiding in the dark. It’s a man hiding behind professionalism, creativity, and access.
This is a story about power wearing a soft voice.
I came to him young. New. Excited. I thought I was there for a photoshoot. It was late. His wife and kids were asleep upstairs. At the time, I didn’t question that. When you’re trying to break into an industry, you’re taught not to question opportunity.
That’s the first leverage.
This happened in Lincoln, Nebraska—and as far as I know, he is still active. I don’t name him here, not because this doesn’t matter, but because this story is larger than one person.
Photography—especially when nudity or intimacy is involved—creates a power imbalance by default. One person controls the lens, the framing, the edits, the final image, the approval, the future opportunities. The other person is told—explicitly or implicitly—that discomfort is part of the process.
“Anything for the shot.”
This song lives inside that culture.
THE AUTHORITY LAYER — WHEN ACCESS BECOMES CONTROL
He wasn’t forceful.
He didn’t need to be.
The escalation happened quietly—framed as collaboration, as art, as trust. He worked himself into the images. Used timers. Posed beside me. Touched under the guise of directing. Crossed lines slowly enough that stopping them felt impossible without “ruining everything.”
After he was already inside me, he asked if it was okay.
Consent asked after the fact isn’t consent.
It’s a trap.
By the time the question comes, my body is already frozen.
THE FREEZE LAYER — WHY “WHY DIDN’T YOU STOP IT?” FAILS
What people don’t understand is that freeze doesn’t look dramatic.
It looks like compliance.
Stillness.
Silence.
I didn’t fight because I didn’t know how to interrupt a script that was already running—especially after having already been raped and coerced by others before this. My nervous system wasn’t choosing comfort. It was choosing survival inside someone else’s house, inside someone else’s authority.
This song isn’t just about sex.
It’s about being handled by a system that taught me not to object.
THE INDUSTRY LAYER — PHOTOGRAPHY IS NOT A NEUTRAL SPACE
Photography is not a neutral medium. It creates an asymmetry that most people can’t name until something goes wrong. One person holds the camera. The other becomes the subject. In modeling spaces—especially early-career ones—boundaries are often framed as obstacles.
You’re taught that saying no makes you difficult.
That discomfort is part of it.
That opportunity is fragile and replaceable.
Informal surveys, advocacy groups, and industry reporting have consistently shown that a majority of models experience boundary violations, including pressure to undress, sexualized comments, unwanted touch, or escalation under the guise of art. These experiences disproportionately happen early in careers, often during private shoots, home studios, or “test” sessions with no witnesses.
Photography doesn’t need violence.
It only needs authority plus isolation.
A basement studio.
A trusted reputation.
A person who knows exactly how far to go without triggering a scene.
That isn’t accidental.
That’s design.
He knew what he was doing.
THE CULTURE LAYER — WHY THIS ISN’T A RARE STORY
I’ve been on both sides of the lens.
I was a photographer. A model. A makeup artist. A hair stylist. I was deeply embedded in the creative community—weddings, families, boudoir, fashion shows, implied and nude work. I heard many versions of my story from other women, often quietly, often after trust had been built.
There’s a reason models told me they felt safer working with me.
There’s a reason I never adjusted someone’s clothing without asking.
There’s a reason I named boundaries out loud.
I knew how easily power could slide into entitlement—because I’ve lived it.
That line in the song:
“I was nobody—till I aimed a lens.
Suddenly, models dropped clothes like friends.”
is truer than I’d like to admit.
WHY I WROTE IT THIS WAY
Writing from his let me show how charm, authority, and opportunity can be weaponized without raising a voice.
This song sits where it does in the album because it explains something important:
Why the anger comes later in my album.
Why the scream takes time.
Why survival often looks like agreement.
THINGS I LEARNED WHILE WRITING THIS SONG
Authority dramatically alters consent dynamics
Freeze is common in situations involving professional or social power
Coercion often happens without physical force
“Anything for the shot” is a cultural script that benefits abusers
Asking for consent after escalation is a known coercive tactic
Silence during harm is a survival response, not permission
Learning this didn’t make me feel vindicated.
It made me sad.
But it helped me stop asking myself the wrong questions.
MODEL SAFETY NOTE (READ GENTLY)
If you are new to modeling or creative work, especially implied or nude work: your discomfort is information. You are allowed to pause, bring someone with you, ask questions, leave, or say no at any point—before, during, or after a shoot.
Professionalism does not require silence.
Art does not override consent.
Opportunity is not worth your safety.
A NOTE TO THE LISTENER
I write these songs for myself. I write because my memory is fragmented, and this is how I piece together what survived. I don’t name names. I name patterns.
If you’re reading this and recognizing something familiar, I want you to know this: nothing about your reaction means you agreed. It means your body did the best it could with the information and power it had at the time.
🖋 LYRICS
[Intro]
I was nobody—till I aimed a lens.
Suddenly, models dropped clothes like friends.
Told her, “Your turn.” Took off my shirt.
She clicked the camera. I fed her the hurt.
[Verse 1]
I build the basement like a temple of skin.
My daughter sleeps while I let her in.
Softbox lit, she’s a blush-draped queen.
She calls my photos “vision.” I script the scene.
I feed the shutter—she bends, she leans
The fabric falls—she moves like water.
I frame it. I guide. “Now lose the clothes.”
And she does—the lens is law, she knows
I tell her, “Get in this one with me.”
She slips her panties off like rosary.
I press in slow while she stares through the ceiling—
Wife and kids upstairs, deep dreaming.
She’s frozen. Bracing. Still breathing.
She stays quiet. That’s the pose.
I photoshop her pause to glow—
Make it look like she wants the show.
[Hook]
Remember I’m Him—the rot in the rose
You let me in—I hollow your home
Carve my name in your muscle and throat
Etch my name in your marrow and moan
So even when you heal, I’m still in you
So even when you bloom, I still ruin you
[Spoken]
So you wanna know where it started?
Why I love like fire and fuck like a target?
Why every woman I touch gets tarnished?
[Verse 2]
Alright—basement stairs. I tiptoe, breath tight.
Hear moans curling through the basement light.
Daddy is down here—her clothes are gone.
That’s not my mom—my stomach’s gone.
His hand in her hair, then she sees me.
Yeah, that’s definitely not my mommy.
He smiles like a king and says, “Take notes.”
She folds on the floor—I close the door.
The belt’s on the ground. Her breath pulls back.
I walk upstairs, my face stays flat.
Sometimes—my mom cries when she thinks I’m sleeping.
I press the wall while she’s weeping.
He called her “queen” while he turned her blue.
I thought pain was what love meant too.
Now I touch too rough and I flinch too late.
I fuck like revenge and I kiss like hate.
[Bridge]
Remember I’m Him—the rot in the rose.
I’m Him—the thorn in the voice you close.
It’s me—I coil where your mercy goes.
You still believe you’re the one who chose.
I keep consuming—it’s the only time I feel human.
I smile like charm, but I come as a crow.
I rot like a rose at the root of your throat.
No need to chase—just make you think you’re safe.
[Hook]
Remember I’m Him—the rot in the rose
You let me in—I hollow your home
Carve my name in your muscle and throat
Etch my name in your marrow and moan
So even when you heal, I’m still in you
So even when you bloom, I still ruin you
[Outro]
“Let’s get one where you’re smiling.”
🖤 CROW BLESSING
May the truth come back to you gently.
May authority loosen its grip on your memory.
May what was framed as “art” no longer blur what your body knew.
A black wing rests on the wire—watching, remembering.
