Polishing My Pulse
Experimental Indie / Bedroom Alt, Dark Late-Night Edge, 93 Bpm 4/4, Key C# Major But “Dark-Colored” (Maj7/Add2/Sus + Occasional Iv/Bvi/Bvii), Hook: Swirling Shakers + Dramatic Piano Hits + Noisy/Fuzzy Lead Vocal, Not Sparse, Tag: Acoustic Vocal, Indie, Lo-Fi, Experimental, Dark synthwave, Synth, Echo, Dramatic, Cinematic, Bass, male Vocal, Experimental, Dubstep, powerful
Polishing My Pulse
Experimental Indie / Bedroom Alt, Dark Late-Night Edge, 93 Bpm 4/4, Key C# Major But “Dark-Colored” (Maj7/Add2/Sus + Occasional Iv/Bvi/Bvii), Hook: Swirling Shakers + Dramatic Piano Hits + Noisy/Fuzzy Lead Vocal, Not Sparse, Tag: Acoustic Vocal, Indie, Lo-Fi, Experimental, Dark synthwave, Synth, Echo, Dramatic, Cinematic, Bass, male Vocal, Experimental, Dubstep, powerful
Lyrics
Verse 1
They taught me the approved volume,
the safe shape of my smile.
Hands where they won’t read a threat,
eyes that don’t stay wild.
I wasn’t hurting anybody—
still I learned to brace for it.
Even silence had a posture,
even “fine” had a script.
Pre-Chorus
I feel the room take notes.
I feel my voice turn neat.
Not wrong—
just filed.
Chorus 1
Don’t grade my life.
Don’t name me “better.”
If “good” means staying easy,
I don’t want it—ever.
Let me be messy.
Let me be unclear.
I’m done folding at the corners
just to disappear.
Verse 2
Elevator mirror, midnight—
I rehearse being simple.
Trim my words to fit the box,
round my edges gentle.
Read receipts feel like spotlights
when I don’t answer fast;
I type, delete, retype again,
like I’m begging to be passable.
And praise lands soft, then sticky—
a stamp across my skin;
I catch it peeling in the shower,
watch it curl and sink.
Pre-Chorus
I’m tired of the comment box.
Tired of “watch your tone.”
Tired of shrinking my whole self
to keep the peace alone.
Chorus 2
Don’t grade my life.
Keep your tidy weather.
If “good” is just a filter,
I don’t want it—ever.
Let me be honest.
Let me be here.
Bridge
Sometimes I miss the lanyard—
that little plastic pass:
tell me where to stand,
tell me I can stay at last.
Then I hate how fast I soften,
how grateful I can sound—
so I drop the perfect answer
and let it hit the ground.
Final Chorus
Don’t grade my life.
Don’t call it “growth”
when it’s just a tighter room
and a brighter oath.
Let me be loud on Tuesday.
Let me be quiet for no reason.
No more polishing my pulse
to match somebody else’s season.
I wasn’t wrong.
I’m leaving anyway.
Outro
Turn it off.
Let it go.