Built pretty.
Held together under strain.
You only hear it
when the room gets quiet.

Marble on my nerves, cool face, hard grain,
You can hear the pressure if the room stay quiet.
I learned to hold shape when the weather got cruel,
When to look untouched and when to move brutal.
White stone polish with a basement full of cracks,
I don't show the whole map, I just rap through the facts.
Slow blink, chin set, pulse under the cuff,
A lot of what looks graceful is just pain done enough.
No grand collapse, no scene in the frame,
Just a man staying exact while the walls keep strain.
Some call it poise, some call it control,
I call it surviving without losing the whole.

Tap the glass, hear the echo low,
Every clean line got a weight below.
I don't bend easy, I just learn the shape,
That's what pressure taught me to make.

Cool hands, cracked veins, still I hold the line,
Pretty on the surface, pressure in the spine.
Marble on my nerves, don't mistake the calm,
I was built to take the weight and still become the arch.

No break in the face,
No shake in the breath.
Some of us learned grace
with a knee on the chest.

Every clean entrance had a tremor beneath it,
Every sharp sentence came from almost losing speech.
I don't glorify hurt, I just know what it built,
How to stand still rich with a chest full of silt.
Column by column, I kept my form,
Made a little art from a long bad storm.
This ain't fragile, this ain't numb,
This is what survival looks like dressed up clean.
No pity in the drape, no plea in the tone,
Just enough self-command to carry the stone.
I know what it means when the pressure don't show,
Sometimes the strongest thing is how little they know.

And I don't need applause
for the way I stayed whole.
A lot of what looks polished
came out of control.

I was not born this measured, I was cut to it slow,
By cold rooms, hard lessons, and the things men don't show.
By mornings with the jaw tight, nights with the chest locked,
By learning how to stand when the easy part stopped.
Now the marble got memory under every white vein,
Every fine little line got a map of the strain.
That's why the calm feel heavy when it enters the room,
Why my silence got more truth than half the noise do.
No soft little myth, no perfect design,
Just pressure turned elegant over borrowed time.
And if I look expensive, know the cost ran deep,
Know the smoothest things are the hardest to keep.
Still I hold shape. Still I don't fold.
Still I let the dignity speak before the pain gets told.

Let the drums fall back, let the piano ring,
Let the low end sit where the old hurt been.
No need to oversell what the cracks already prove,
Some beauty only hardens when it survives the bruise.
Beat drops thin, let the air come through,
Let the hook come back with a little more truth.
I ain't unbreakable, I just learned the art
Of carrying the ruin without becoming it.

Cool hands, cracked veins, still I hold the line,
Pretty on the surface, pressure in the spine.
Marble on my nerves, don't mistake the calm,
I was built to take the weight and still become the arch.
White stone, dark load, still I don't fall apart,
Every clean edge here got a story in the dark.
Marble on my nerves, now you know the form,
This is what it looks like when the pressure gets worn.

No collapse.
Just resonance.
No panic.
Just weight made visible.