Gallery of Me

[ Lyrics ]

All eyes on me, none on who I am.

Black turtleneck, blend with the wall,
champagne flute I’m not drinking at all.
He says, ‘You’re glowing,’ I feel like a ghost,
a photograph wearing the most.
They quote the liner notes like scripture, like fact,
‘The eyes—so mysterious. The soul—held back.’
Nobody asks if the pain was real,
or if I ever tried to heal.

A man says, ‘You’re timeless,’ I blink, don’t reply,
my name’s not on the plaque, but my body’s the art.
They praise the composition, the shadow on my cheek,
but not the girl who couldn’t sleep for weeks.

All eyes on me, none on who I am.
Just light on canvas, not the hand in the flame.
They love the version he lit and framed,
but I vanish in the echo of his name.

Saw one of us laughing mid-July rain,
captured barefoot, tangled, no pose, no chain.
It was real—our first fight turned to make-up,
now it’s a print titled ‘The Innocence Rape.’
Another with mascara like storm clouds falling,
he called that one ‘Grace in the Falling.’
I was just tired. I was just sad.
But he turned my ‘no’ into art.

They toast to the muse, raise a glass to the myth,
while I stand here in the dress he told me to pick.
Funny how beauty can make you so small—
in a room full of love, I feel nothing at all.

All eyes on me, none on who I am.
Just light on canvas, not the hand in the flame.
They love the version he lit and framed,
but I vanish in the echo of his name.

I used to think being seen was the same as being known.
Now I see—exposure don’t mean you’re shown.
You didn’t unveil me, you replaced me,
put your dream in the space where I stayed.

All eyes on me, none on who I am.
Just light on canvas, not the hand in the flame.
They love the version he lit and framed,
but I’m waking up from the echo of his name.

All eyes… on me.

But not on who I am.