Lyrics

They called me crazy. But crazy is just a man’s word for a woman who’s stopped begging.
They called me unstable and emotional, No, sweet boy, I am unforgiving.
They called me a punchline. A late-night joke worked into every talk show monologue.
They forgot I was a woman before I was a headline. Before the blade, there were bruises. Before the rage, there was begging.
Before the blade, there were fists like gospels
preaching with bone against my body.
He didn’t lose a penis or his manhood,
He lost control. And that? That was the very first time he’d ever tasted the fear he’d fed me night after night. And oh, how poetic—that the hand he used to let down his zipper wasn’t there that night to stop the reckoning.
America laughed. Because it’s easier to mock a woman’s fury than to face a man who’s into woman beating. Easier to say crazy Latina
than admit your heroes assault women behind closed doors, And America never asked what he did to me. No one shuddered when I said “rape.”
But say “knife,” and suddenly I’m the monster? He was the storm, but I became the thunder that they felt before they heard the rumble
Easier to condemn my revenge than his need for control. You want to know what snapped?Not just the skin. Not just that night. But the silence. They say it was me. But No, it was
His grip that snapped on my throat.
His teeth that snapped commands in the dark. His ego that snapped when the prey finally bit back.
After years of no one hearing me, I made the pain loud enough to shake the courtroom walls.
Loud enough that it Reverberated and carried down every hall.
Let my name sting inside every man’s mouth.
When my story’s told, Watch every man’s eyes wander south.
I was not born with violence in my hands.
But I became a very good student of that man. He taught it to me, meticulously, I simply learned to speak it fluently.
They called me by his surname.
Even now, I wear his tarnished legacy
But my name is Lorena—
he started this with his hands.
But I ended it with mine.