Lyrics

They called me crazy.
But insanity is a man’s word
for a woman who’s stopped begging.

They called me unstable.
No, sweetheart—
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 scissors,
there were fists like gospels
preaching with bone against my body.

He didn’t lose a penis.
He lost control.
And that?
That was the first time
he’d ever tasted the fear
he fed me
night
after
night.
And oh, how poetic—
that the hand he used to unzip his zipper
wasn’t there
to stop the reckoning.

America laughed.
Because it is easier to mock a woman’s fury
than to face a man’s fists.
Easier to say crazy Latina
than admit your heroes
rape behind closed doors
And America didn’t ask what he did to me.
No one flinched when I said “rape.”
But say “knife,”
and suddenly
I’m the monster?
He was the storm,
but I became the thunder
they never heard rumble

Easier to dissect my revenge
than his need for control.
You want to know what snapped?
Not just the skin.
Not just the night.
But the silence.
The silence snapped. They say it was me.
No—he did.
His grip snapped on my throat.
His teeth snapped commands in the dark.
His ego snapped
when the prey bit back.

After years of no one hearing me,
I made the pain loud enough to shake courtroom walls.
Reverberate and carry down every hall.
Let my name
sting in every man’s mouth.
When my story comes up,
Watch every man’s eyes wander south.

Then flinch…
Boo!

I was not born with violence in my hands.
But I became a very good student of that man.
He taught it to me,
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 with his hands.
But it ended with mine.