(Intro) Dust on the windowsill, ceiling creaks like it wants to collapse and so do they. (Verse 1) Every room I enter is a borrowed shape β corners scraped against my ribs, rules pressed at my throat. They draw borders around my shadow and call it βacceptable.β But I donβt shrink well, I never did. I was carved for something sharper than their hollow etiquette. (Pre-Chorus) Iβve tried to fold once β it left bruises on the inside of my lungs. Iβd rather crack the frame than smooth myself to fit it. (Chorus) Nothing here was made for me. Not the walls, not the scripts, not the porcelain politeness. I will not bend at the spine for anyoneβs comfort. If the room is too small, then let the room break β because I wonβt. (Verse 2) They call me βheavyβ because the truth isnβt weightless. They flinch when my red eyes hold theirs β the honesty burns. I hear them whisper, βShe should soften.β As if I was designed to be palatable. My fangs were not a phase, and my fire never begged for permission. (Pre-Chorus) I donβt owe them grace just because they choke on what I am. My edges were earned by every night I had to bleed alone. (Chorus) Nothing here was made for me. Not the walls, not the scripts, not the porcelain politeness. I will not bend at the spine for anyoneβs comfort. If the room is too small, then let the room break β because I wonβt. (Bridge) Let the floorboards splinter, let the chandeliers crash. I wonβt dim to match their wallpaper. Iβd rather be the crack in the foundation than a perfect picture frame they hang and forget. (Final Chorus) Nothing here was made for me. So Iβll carve my own doorway, peel back the sky, find air that doesnβt taste like restraint. I will not fold β I was born with angles. If the world canβt hold my shape, then it can shatter. (Outro β quiet, but iron-hard) I never asked to fit. I only asked to exist as the version of me that doesnβt apologize for taking up space.
