kirsh x mula x ricins - kuce vai flstudio freestyle.wav

getmulah - es pis ft. lorzi x kirsh x buhardijs x ka$hel @prod.rudz (jebaal chistaa bandas suds)

rastafari prod. skabe.wav

mulagetmula - Klope Prod. @dom Nx

DIPDAP prod.slime

mulagetmula - soma svars prod. prodbyttk3hunna

geekoj

aukst1

$aksafonz - neflipo feat. 67Babs

I missed the playground days, the running wild, the screaming loud,
’Cause every jump, every fall, every splash was a warning I wasn’t allowed.
Kids flew through sprinklers while I stayed dry on the side,
holding my processors like fragile glass,
pretending I didn’t mind.

While they lived like they had whole worlds to spare,
I lived cautious, quiet, always aware—
one wrong move, one wrong fall,
and silence would swallow it all.
So I stayed safe, stayed small, stayed still—
a child in theory,
but never for real.

They played without thinking.
I lived every moment with fear.
I didn’t get childhood—
I got responsibility handed down like gear.

I missed a whole damn childhood trying to keep up,
trying to study, trying to hear, trying not to break stuff.
While they slept in late, I was sounding out words,
relearning conversations they caught on the first.
I wasn’t climbing trees; I was climbing expectations.
Wasn’t loud in the sun; I was trapped in translations.
I missed whole years I can’t ever get back—
lost to studying, surviving, and staying intact.

Every summer they ran through pools and rain,
while I held onto my devices like a lifeline to my brain.
I watched kids wrestle, tumble, dive,
but I couldn’t risk a single thing
that might break the way I survived.

They had mud, chaos, bruises, noise—
I had caution, silence, a box full of batteries instead of toys.
While they learned life through laughter and bruises that fade,
I learned discipline, fear, and how careful a child can be made.

My childhood wasn’t lived—
it was managed.
Protected.
Restricted.
Planned.
I didn’t get freedom—
I got rules written right into my hands.

I missed a whole damn childhood trying to keep up,
studying till midnight just to be “good enough.”
While they ran free, I practiced words in the mirror,
trying to sound normal, trying to grow clearer.
I didn’t get recklessness; I got survival.
Didn’t get mistakes; I got denial.
Those years slipped through my fingers like sand—
lost to fear of the silence I couldn’t withstand.

I didn’t jump in pools.
I didn’t roll in grass.
I didn’t run carefree.
Everything I did had to last.
A childhood lived like a minefield—
every joy a risk,
every risk too big.
They say kids bounce back,
but I wasn’t allowed to fall.

I lost years trying to stay connected,
years no one remembers but me.

I missed a whole damn childhood trying to keep up,
trying to hear, trying to learn, trying not to mess up.
They had scraped knees; I had early discipline.
They had summers; I had quiet rooms I studied in.
They had memories loud and bright—
I had caution, rules, and silent nights.
If childhood is freedom,
then mine was under attack—
stolen by fear, stolen by pressure…
and I can’t get it back.

Maybe one day I’ll forgive the years
I never got to live.
But right now…
I’m still mourning
the kid I didn’t get to be.

geekoj

KALAXI

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