Who Broke You?

“Who broke you?
Who made you think it was okay…
to break me?”

Did she raise you loveless, did she teach you cold?
Did your mama’s silence make your heart this old?
Did your daddy leave, so you learned to run?
And now every woman pays for what he’s done.

I see the bruises on your spirit, yeah, I know that pain,
But baby, trauma ain’t a license to make me insane.
You treat my love like dirt under your shoe,
But I just keep asking—who the hell broke you?

I ain’t your bandage, I ain’t your cure,
I’m the woman who knows she deserves more.

 Who broke you, and why’d you break me?
Who taught you that love means misery?
Your scars ain’t mine, stop handing ‘em down,
I’m the queen in this story, I don’t wear your crown. 

( “Not your crown, not your pain…”)
( “Hell no, not today!”)

I bent, I bled, I carried your weight,
I became your excuse for every mistake.
But I ain’t your mama, and I ain’t your ghost,
I’m the woman who gave you the most.

You played me out like I was just a game,
But the rules you wrote came from your shame.
Now every lie tastes like déjà vu,
So tell me, baby—who the hell broke you?

 “It wasn’t me.
But it damn near could’ve been.
You took your pain,
and you made it mine.
But I refuse…
I refuse to be another casualty in your story.”

 Who broke you, and why’d you break me?
Who taught you that love means misery?
Your scars ain’t mine, stop handing ‘em down,
I’m the queen in this story, I don’t wear your crown. 

( “Not your crown, not your pain…”)
(“Break the cycle, baby!”)

“Who broke you?
Better yet…
why did I let you break me?”