Lyrics I Lived First.
I didn’t write these to rhyme. I wrote them because they wouldn’t stay in my body.
They were migraines. Jaw locks. Sleepless nights.
They were shame in the throat and screams without permission.
They were bruises before they were bars.
This isn’t poetry. It’s scar documentation.
Every line is a nerve flare. Every song a body memory.
This is trauma transmutation. Somatic spellwork. Featherlock frequency.
I never set out to write music. I set out to survive myself.
And this is what made it through the wreckage.
What I couldn’t say with a smile. What I couldn’t quiet with a journal.
These are songs for the ones who shake when they speak.
Who ghost their friends.
Who carry fire in the gut and call it anxiety.
You’re not broken. Your body is telling the truth in full volume.
I didn’t write these to be catchy.
I wrote them to find the way back to myself.
You can call them lyrics.
I call them evidence I didn’t vanish.
So yeah—read them. Stream them. Feel what stirs.
You don’t owe me anything. I’m just trying to figure myself out.
But if you hear yourself inside these sounds,
just know: I was never writing to be saved.
I was writing to witness what lives.
Welcome to Lyrics I Lived First.
Where survival became sound.
And healing got bass.
Flame in a Paper House (For Brooklynn)
This is a vow song. A lyrical fire for Brooklynn—and every soft soul trained to dim their light. It’s grief turned to rhythm, silence turned to vow. For the ones who didn’t pull over. For the ache of loving what you couldn’t save. If you saw something sacred flicker out and still feel it burning in your ribs—this flame’s for you.
BECAUSE I SAID SO – Lyrics
This song is my reckoning. BECAUSE I SAID SO came from the gap between how I was showing up and who I wanted to be. It’s the sound of me catching myself mid-script, mid-yell, mid-trigger—and choosing something different. I didn’t write this from theory—I wrote it from the floor, holding the weight of my own voice.
MARROW – Lyrics For The Survivors
This blog holds the full lyrics and ritual spell for MARROW, a rap-metal exorcism of a ghost self born from pelvic shame, forced submission, and silent obedience. It names the flinch, maps the memory, and buries the ghost that once performed “yes” to survive. The body becomes the altar, the voice becomes the flame. Readers walk away with a scream in their palm and a ritual to reclaim their hips.
WHERE ARE THE MOTHERS – Lyrics
This blog holds the spell of a mother who chooses not to pass it down. I wrote it in the aftermath of a hard moment, with breath still shaking in my ribs. These lyrics track the pattern of rage, restraint, and repair—the sacred loop of staying present in fire without becoming it. I offer this for anyone who has ever stormed, returned, and chosen love with mud still on their boots.
I AM THE RAKE – Lyrics
This is what I wrote instead of screaming.
The rake moved what my mouth couldn’t say.
It dug through the grief I didn’t name—but still felt, still carried, still almost passed on.
It’s a rhythm for the ones who inherited the storm and chose to break the cycle with their body.
Not against the ones who came before—but for them.
For the love that was buried beneath duty.
For the softness that never got spoken.
I swing to clear space for that.
This is how I till the field and return with love.
I Was the Abuser - Lyrics
This isn’t a clean confession. It’s a ritual. A scorched-earth naming of the harm we cause when our wounds stay unspoken. I Was the Abuser is a raw, rhythm-cut testimony from Loui Crow—a track that doesn’t flinch as it walks straight into the fire of self-responsibility.
Written from the wreckage of a real relationship, this song peels back the layers of trauma reenactment, emotional control, sexual coercion, and gendered expectations. It speaks into the places we don’t want to look: when survivors become perpetrators. When fear sounds like love. When power masquerades as pain relief.
This isn’t about punishing the self. It’s about reclaiming it. Through sound, through story, through unrelenting truth.
If you’ve ever harmed someone you loved and couldn’t figure out why—this song is your mirror.
Kind words from those who felt it.
I keep them close. They remind me I’m real.
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I walked my pitch all day and just lived my daily mantras and just shined. I feel truly seen! Your materialization in this space is the form of an earthly guide for those that see you. I’m grateful to not have blinked.
Dave
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You are a heaven sent and a beautiful sacrament to my healing i am grateful for you. I am always down to dive deeper as a fellow healer, witch, and spiritual guide i feel connected to you
Coral
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A woman who speaks from inside her own storm and dares to leave the mic on.
Anonymous
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You are wildfire, speaking of lifetimes of power. The world is finally ready for you. BURN THIS FUCKER DOOOWWWWWN! 🤣 I'll piss on the ashes.
MaryAnn
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AI is your tool—the forge, the hammer—but you are the lightning that strikes the anvil. The music you bleed through this collaboration is the sound of your becoming, the cry that fractures worlds and wakes the dead.
Anonymous
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Woah this one left me sitting here with my mouth hanging wide open. This one is deep, and will catch ya.
Molly