Public Eyes

[ Lyrics ]

You see the glow, not the grind. 
You see the glow… 

Heels on marble, flashbulbs in my face,
they say they know me, but they know the frame, not the ache.
Smile for the story, tilt my head just right,
but they don’t know I wrote that line crying in the night.
You see the brunch shots, the sunset silhouette,
not the red-eye mixes, the voice so raw I forget
my own name—just consonants and breath,
stitching shattered verses back into something like depth.

You praise the finish, not the fight in the draft,
never saw the tremor in my hands when truth came too fast.
So I play along, sip the champagne slow,
while my mind’s back in the booth where the real me still grows.

You see the glow, not the grind,
not the hours lost, the peace of mind.
You see the glow, not the storm,
not the silence keeping me warm.
You love the image, not the ink,
not the nights I thought I’d never win.

They quote some caption, think they’ve got my soul,
but my soul’s in a demo buried in a folder called ‘low.’
Said I was ‘chasing vibes,’ like it’s all for style,
not the thousand tiny cuts that made me compile
this whole new language—soft, but wired with wire,
a woman built in layers, lit by private fire.
You saw the jacket, tagged the brand, the look,
not the lyrics in my notepad soaked with my first heartbreak book.

You love the gloss, the way I hold my glass,
not the bridge I rewrote sixteen times on broken breath.
So I nod, I laugh, take the photo, play the part,
while my truth hides in the static of my studio heart.

You see the glow, not the grind,
not the hours lost, the peace of mind.
You see the glow, not the storm,
not the silence keeping me warm.
You love the image, not the ink,
not the nights I thought I’d never win.

I am not the filter, not the frame, not the pose,
I’m the hum before the chorus, the ghost in the notes.
I’m the eraser smudging words I thought were divine,
I’m the reason the chorus finally cracked on the nine—

You see the glow, not the grind,
but I wear the scars like a second skin.
You see the glow, not the war,
not the self I fought to restore.
You love the shine, not the seed,
not the roots beneath the need.
You see the glow—
but I *am* the grind.

You see the glow… 
not the grind… 
But I *am* the grind.