2. Not What We Wanted

May 30

INTRO
I wrote this for the girl in my left eye.
The one who hid in the closet and learned to hush.
This is for the girl who couldn't speak.
The void is listening.
Watch me find my footing.

VERSE 1
I don't remember the whole story —
Just the corners I folded myself into.
I don't remember the fights.
Just the quiet after.
The way the air sat heavy.
The way I learned to disappear.
I used to fold myself into the shape of their relief —
Grind my edges until I disappeared beneath.
"good girl" on a leash.
"tough" in a cage.
They wanted a doll.
I gave them porcelain.
They wanted a daughter who would never ask why.
I wanted a mother who could look me in the eye.
She lost her teeth on her daddy's law, swallowed every word.
Raised me on quiet and called it being good.
I wanted parents who could stay with my feelings.
They wanted a daughter who would never break.
I thought they hated me, so I hated them too.

CHORUS
I couldn't be what they wanted me to be.
And they couldn't be what I wanted them to be.
I forgive you for not being who I wanted you to be.
I forgive you.
I'm letting it be.
I forgive myself for thinking it would be different.
Two hands reaching, missing the ground —
just the ache of a love that never found its sound.
This isn't what we wanted.

VERSE 2
She wanted a son.
She got me.
That was the first thing I couldn't be.
He wanted a legacy, a story he could leave.
I wanted a father who could sit with me and grieve.
He asked me no questions.
I had no answers.
Just a mouth full of silence and a lifetime of manners.
He never asked how I felt.
Just told me how I should.
He wanted a daughter who would listen.
I wanted a father who would.
He taught me to build walls, not bridges.
I'm still climbing over the barriers he gifted.
They got what they asked for.
I got what was left.

BRIDGE
I did what I could.
We did what we could.
It just wasn't enough.
Now I hold my own hand through the hard part.

OUTRO
I couldn't be the daughter they tried to raise.
And they couldn't be the parents who stayed.
So I built my own mirror, named my own face.
Let them off the hook, and give the little one inside some peace.
This is just the beginning of letting go.

Loui Crow

I make music, practice mirror work, sometimes I do somatic rage fits, and small forms of magick that help me stay present and kind while things change.

I write songs for myself, my inner child, and for the woman I am becoming.
I work through old patterns, grief, and survival habits as I notice them loosening.

Sometimes I write as the Crow — that's my ideal self. Direct, unattached, protective, grounded in something older than my fear. Other voices come through too. The snake. The spider. The fly. The ghosts are the false selves I created to survive. I write as all of them, for my own self-hypnosis — unpacking who I've been so that my son can fill his days with joy and I can stop being such a reactive parent. I'm in the middle of it all. I just keep showing up.

I use Suno for vocals and instrumentals — the vocals are seeded from my own voice. I'm a disabled veteran and a stay-at-home mom.

Over the last year, I climbed an emotional ladder I didn't know I was on. Many of my earlier releases were the scream — my depression, anger, insecurity.

The last album that came out of that climb is called "Mirror, Mirror off the Wall." It starts with depression and ends with gratitude.

Much of what lives here carries the influence of Louise Hay and Abraham Hicks, especially the idea that my body listens to my thoughts — and that where I place my attention, my life follows.

I leave breadcrumbs in case anyone resonates.

Take what feeds you.
Leave the rest for the birds.

I am molting.
You are welcome here.

https://louicrow.com

2. Not What We Wanted

1. Old Bones (For Sarah)

3. Couldn’t Be Quieted

louicrow@gmail.com