Verse 1 They told me still water was holy, quiet was how you survive. Don’t let your heart show its thunder, don’t let your truth come alive. But I grew up by rivers in motion, learned how the banks learn to bend. I wasn’t made for the smoothing, I wasn’t born to pretend. Pre I heard the world say hush, but my chest said rise. So I chose my own voice, even when it shook sometimes. Chorus I am not the drowning kind. I came up breathing, I came up whole. Where they whispered, I replied. Where they faded, I took hold. I am not the drowning kind. Verse 2 There were nights I thought silence was mercy, nights I thought staying was wrong. But breaking was never my ending, it was just where the truth got strong. My hands trembled but I stayed with myself, didn’t trade my name to belong. Carried the fire through winter, found I’d been burning all along. Pre I heard the world say hush, but my chest said rise. So I followed my voice, even when it took time. Bridge (spoken) I was not the girl who went under. I was the one who came up breathing. They said quiet was safer, softness was survival, but I was born with a voice that doesn’t fold. My voice shook, took time to rise—but shaking isn’t breaking, it’s truth returning. The river kept moving, and so did I. I don’t belong to the version they told. I belong to the one who stayed—who kept her name, her fire, her pulse. I didn’t escape the story. I rewrote the center of it. Final Chorus I am not the drowning kind. I came up breathing, I came up whole. I learned to rise alone, but I do not stand alone. Where the story once ended, I begin. I am not the drowning kind. I am the one who stayed. The one who keeps the way open for anyone who needs to walk out. I am not the drowning kind.
