The Songs I Write When I Can’t Speak
There are days when I open my mouth — and nothing comes out.
Not because I have nothing to say…
But because what I need to say is too heavy for words.
That’s when I write.
Not novels. Not poems. Not blog posts.
Songs.
Songs are the language my nervous system understands.
They bypass the fear. They cut through the silence.
They let me confess what I cannot explain.
Songs as Emotional Confession
I’ve never been one for small talk.
I don’t know how to say “I’m fine” when I’m breaking.
So instead, I write about being locked inside a room while memories claw at the walls.
I write about exes who still haunt my body.
About heartbreak that isn’t clean, and healing that isn’t linear.
Songs like “Alone With Shadows” or “Crime of My Life” aren’t for the charts.
They’re for my own breath.
And yet — when I share them, I hear whispers back: “This is me too.”
That’s the part that undoes me. Every time.
Why I Had to Stay Faceless
I write about things most people don’t want to hear.
Emotional abuse. Betrayal. Shame. Survival.
I name the feelings that others avoid.
But I don’t name names. I don’t show my face.
Because some truths are too dangerous to say with my real identity attached.
This isn’t cowardice. It’s wisdom. It’s self-preservation.
My avatar — the Mathilde you see in my cover art — holds those truths for me.
She’s not a mask. She’s a container.
She lets me be brave… without being broken open.
When You Can’t Speak — You Still Deserve Voice
Music gave me a place to be honest.
To say: Yes, this happened. Yes, it hurt. Yes, I’m still here.
Even when my real voice shakes.
Even when I can’t talk about it at dinner.
Even when my ex still follows me in shadows.
I can sing it.
That’s the freedom I never had before.
And now that I’ve found it, I won’t let it go.
For You — If You’re Still Quiet
Maybe you haven’t told anyone what happened.
Maybe you’ve been surviving in silence.
Maybe your story still lives in your throat like a lump.
If you listen to my songs and think, That’s me —
You’re not alone.
You’re not broken.
You’re not invisible.
You just need a safe way to speak.
And maybe, until you find your own words — you can borrow mine.
With love,
Mathilde