GOOD PATIENT [Verse 1] I learned to lower my voice So the room could keep pretending. Face on, hair done, Nervous system pending. Pack the lunches, answer questions, Make the fear sound organized. Functioning is not the same as fine— But damn, I make it photograph nice. [Pre-Chorus] Don’t call me brave When you mean convenient. Don’t call me calm Because my pain learned presentation. [Chorus] I’ve been a good patient, Smiling through the static, Brought receipts into a room That called the whole thing dramatic. Now I’m done translating pain Into something you can take. If the truth makes me difficult, Then difficult I’ll stay. I’ve been a good patient. Look where good got me. [Verse 2] “Unremarkable,” stamped in black— Funny, my body never read it back. Dates and scans and names and numbers, Every symptom cross-examined. You brought a shrug. I brought the pattern. Then you asked why I looked angry. Maybe peace was never silence. Maybe nice was just survival With better branding. [Pre-Chorus] Don’t praise my strength While adding to the weight. Don’t ask for evidence, Then flinch when I submit the case. [Chorus] I’ve been a good patient, Smiling through the static, Brought receipts into a room That called the whole thing dramatic. Now I’m done translating pain Into something you can take. If the truth makes me difficult, Then difficult I’ll stay. I’ve been a good patient. Look where good got me. [Post-Chorus] Soft heart. Sharp memory. I don’t hold grudges— I hold metadata. You wanted quiet. I became the record. Contradictory evidence: Submitted. [Verse 3] I’m a mother And still somebody’s daughter. A wife, a woman, And the one who carries water. I can hold the room While barely holding myself. But love is not a contract To disappear for everybody else. I made jokes from what nearly broke me, Made a bass line from the chart. You can call it overthinking— I call it staying alive long enough To turn the mess into art. [Breakdown] Soft does not mean silent. Calm does not mean cured. Kind does not mean harmless. And tired does not mean yours. Say I’m too much. Write it down. Spell my name right While you’re passing it around. [Final Chorus] I was a good patient Till “good” meant disappearing, Till every pretty answer Cost another year of hearing: Wait. Watch. Maybe. Stress. As if uncertainty hurts less. Now I don’t translate pain Into something sweet or safe. If the truth makes me difficult, Make room anyway. I was a good patient. Now I’m the fucking case. [Outro] Face on. System pending. Voice back. No more pretending.
