Verse 1
You didn’t start out cold —
you learned it.
Piece by piece, bruise by bruise,
every time showing your feelings
got you punished or ignored.
So you swallowed them whole,
let them rot in your chest,
and called it “being strong.”
You were too young to know
that strength and silence aren’t the same thing.
Pre‑Chorus
You thought disappearing was safer
than being seen and misunderstood.
You thought shutting down
was the only way to stay intact.
And honestly…
I can’t blame you.
Chorus
Bottling it up was never good for you —
but by the time you realized that,
the damage was already done.
You built a mask out of sharp edges,
became a jerk just to keep people away.
At the time, it felt like survival.
Looking back, I understand —
you were just trying to stop the world
from touching the parts of you
that still hurt.
Verse 2
You learned to read danger in footsteps,
tone shifts, slammed doors,
the way someone breathed
when they walked into the room.
You became a mind‑reader,
a peace‑keeper,
a ghost in your own life.
And when the pressure got too heavy,
you lashed out —
because anger felt safer than fear,
and cruelty felt safer than crying.
Bridge
If I could talk to you then,
I’d tell you none of this was your fault.
You weren’t born hard —
you were shaped that way.
You weren’t born distant —
you were pushed into the corners
you learned to hide in.
You weren’t born unkind —
you were defending a heart
that never got the chance to stay soft.
Final Chorus
Bottling it up was never good for you —
but you didn’t have another choice.
You built a mask to survive,
and it worked…
but it cost you pieces of yourself
you’re still trying to reclaim.
You became someone the world couldn’t hurt,
even if it meant hurting others first.
And I get it —
you were just a kid
trying to make it through the noise
with whatever armor you could find.
Nightshiftradio
