[Verse 1] If grief left bruises on the skin, would you ask where I had been? If panic swelled an ankle twice its size, would you tell me it was all inside my mind? If depression showed up clear on an X-ray, would I still have to explain why getting out of bed can sometimes feel like putting weight on something that won’t heal? [Pre-Chorus] You’d bring the crutches, clear the stairs, you’d hold the door, you’d pull up chairs. Ironic what we’re willing to believe when suffering is something we can see. [Chorus] You wouldn’t tell a broken bone it’s had enough time, now walk it home. You wouldn’t call the blood dramatic or tell a fever it’s a habit. You wouldn’t make a wound defend the fact that it still hasn’t mended. So why does pain become less real the moment you can’t physically see what needs to heal? [Verse 2] If trauma needed stitches, would you finally call it deep? If anxiety left casts around my chest, would you let me fucking breathe? If every sleepless night came with a temperature you had to read, would rest become recovery instead of something I should feel guilty to need? [Pre-Chorus] You’d read the chart, respect the signs, believe the body every time. But when the evidence lives underneath, suddenly I’m called weak. [Chorus] You wouldn’t tell a broken bone it’s had enough time, now walk it home. You wouldn’t call the blood dramatic or tell a fever it’s a habit. You wouldn’t make a wound defend the fact that it still hasn’t mended. So why does pain become less real the moment you can’t physically see what needs to heal? [Bridge] That’s the cruelest fucking part— we’ve drawn a border through the heart, as if the brain’s not flesh and blood, as if the mind exists above us. The skull doesn’t make a sacred line where illness stops being allowed inside. You don’t need to see the break to know that putting pressure on it still aches. [Final Chorus] Don’t tell a broken bone to run. Don’t call a wound attention. Don’t measure someone’s suffering by whether you can see the damage done. Pain shouldn’t have to bleed for you before you’ll call the hurting true. Some things don’t show beneath the light— that doesn’t make them hurt less at night.
