Between Lines: "Armor"

By

Literature) 

Last week, I began a series called "Between Lines." In this series, I unveil messages, intentions, and stories behind selected pieces from The Winter Collection. The first piece I annotated was "Ruins," a song from my first published collection, "Florilegium." This week, we're in the same book, different album, identifying the meaning behind my song, "Armor."

Armor: 

I'd rather be feared than be adored.

Fear never betrayed me.

I don't trust anyone anymore. 


When pain is all you know, 

pain is all you want.

Let down by my high hopes,

I’m holding on by a single grudge.


I set fire to my portrait 

just to see my face burn.

It's too late for a savior. 

There's no heart beneath all this armor. 


You preach unity, then you stand divided.

Fuck your feelings, I'm openly offensive.

No apologies, because I’m not sorry.

Self-hatred) 

“I set fire to my portrait just to see my face burn” was my focal point when writing this song. In the “Notorious” album, specifically, I wanted to capture self-hatred through a contextual lens. They turned me into what they wanted to see; someone to rebuke just to feel ordained. I was handed a script in the form of a letter, then played the part. No miscounts, no missteps- just me and my infernal seclusion. 

Following my exile, I felt conditioned to hate myself in full; from the silence I held wishing it were a man, to each spoken “I love you” I said to a friend. I looked down on myself with the same holistic eyes that they did, like some sort of abomination. So I put up my guard to the hollow masses surrounding me. There was, substantially, no heart beneath the armor. 

Self-taught)

In a literal sense, I went to... drastic measures to become something original, drawn in any color but the ones they painted me with. I taught myself how to fight with a bo staff and katana and adopted a scorned-warrior aesthetic. I pushed people away, adorning myself in my pain just to feel secure. The ideology followed: 'If I let nobody in, nobody can hurt me.' But by doing so, I hurt myself. I realized, what good is armor if the blade has already pierced my skin? 

Self-titled)

I placed armor over my wounds when I should have applied compression. But pressure that heals is pressure nonetheless. My sadness, accompanied by resentment, not only denounced my faith but also those in whom I had faith. Never once did I apologize, because never once was I sorry. 

Confidence was the salvation I never prayed for and still received. Their role for me inspired my reinvention, and by reinvention, I became my own.

Finality) 

With my pain strung up for show, in a testimony that only I bled for, I recognize that I will never truly heal. I can't find it in me- the naivety that sought man's approval. That being said, I also recognize that I can no longer hold resentment for myself nor the church. I am not a product of what I experienced, but an ascension from the fallout. That is my closure.




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