They say I talk too loud,
but I’m done shrinking down.
Built their peace on my silence—
guess I’m breaking it now.
They paint me cruel to feel clean,
turn my truth into sin.
But I’ve bled for my freedom,
and I’m not bleeding again.


You can’t bury what won’t bow,
can’t shame what’s holy now.

I’m the mirror you won’t face,
the ghost inside your pride.
You call me sinner, call me strange—
but it’s your shadow in my eyes.
I’ll wear your blame like battle paint,
turn your whispers into sound.
Every scar you gave me
is a hymn that shakes the ground.


You built your thrones on fear,
I built my heart from fire.
I’m not your cautionary tale,
I’m your burning choir.
You need someone to crucify—
that’s how you stay pure.
But you can’t damn the ones
who’ve already been through hell before.


You can’t silence what’s been found,
can’t break what’s sacred now.

I’m the mirror you won’t face,
the ghost inside your pride.
You call me sinner, call me strange—
but it’s your shadow in my eyes.
I’ll wear your blame like battle paint,
turn your whispers into sound.
Every scar you gave me
is a hymn that shakes the ground.


We are not your mistakes—
we’re the ones who survived them.
We are not your shame—
we’re the ones who denied it.
You’ll try to name us, tame us,
but we won’t come down.
We’re the wild ones singing
with the lost and the found.


We’re the mirrors you won’t face,
the truth beneath disguise.
You call us wicked, call us waste—
but it’s your shadow in our eyes.
We wear your blame like battle paint,
and we will not back down.
Every scar you gave us
is a hymn that shakes the ground.

Let them talk—
we’re the thunder underground.

Misunderstood

Voice of the in-between.
I write from the edges where power, fear, and divinity meet.
Songs are spells—born of loneliness, ancestry, and fire.
I sing for the misunderstood, for the women called too much,
for anyone who’s ever burned just to be seen.

“Even storms need shelter.”

Misunderstood

The__Void