I Wrote This Instead of Screaming

You taught me to smile like a switchblade in sheath,
Say “bless your heart” through the grit of my teeth.
Walk through a fire while lighting a cigarette,
Win every fight I haven’t lost yet.
You measured my spine ’til it learned to stay straight,
Taught me the formula — love into hate.
Told me to treat my own kindness like something to ration,
A beautiful weapon, not foolish compassion.

And God, how I hated the steel in your gaze,
Swore I’d be softer the rest of my days.
The world you prepared me for’s the one that I get,
And the softness I wanted, I had to forget. 

So I’m putting on my mother’s war paint —
The same shade of anger, the same steady hand.
I’m not a victim, I’m not a saint,
I’m the daughter of a woman who learned how to stand.
This armor she gave me is heavy as hell,
And every scar in her mirror’s a story I tell.

He thought I would cry when he started the blaze,
So used to the girls from his sunnier days.
He didn’t know I was raised in the lull of a storm,
Where silence’s a weapon that keeps you warm.
I didn’t break down, no, I didn’t get loud —
Just gave that look you wore in a crowd.
The one that says, “Darling, you’ve made a mistake,”
And the calm in my voice was a cage for my rage.

And God, how I hated the cold in your tone,
That feeling of fighting completely alone.
But the world you prepared me for’s the one that I’m in,
And your brutal armor’s the only way I can win.

So I’m putting on my mother’s war paint —
The same shade of anger, the same steady hand.
I’m not a victim, I’m not a saint,
I’m the daughter of a woman who learned how to stand.
This armor she gave me is heavy as hell,
And every scar in her mirror’s a story I tell.

I used to curse you for making me tough,
For teaching me gentle was never enough.
I wanted a garden; you gave me a fist.
For all the soft things I thought that I’d missed…
...thank you for the teeth.

I'm putting on my mother's war paint - 
The same shade of anger, the same steady hand!
I'm not a victim, I'm not a saint,
I'm the daughter of a woman who learned how to stand!
This armor she gave me is heavy as hell,
And every scar in her mirror's a story I tell.