Living Between the Bassline and the Backlash

I existed in two different worlds.

And the duality? It broke me in ways I didn’t have words for.

There was the real world — laced with shame, control, and the constant echo of “no,” “don’t,” “too much.” Where my body was regulated. Where my feelings were ridiculed. Where my curiosity was censored. Every time I tried to step into myself, the world grabbed me by the wrist and whispered, “Not like that.”

And then — there was the music. My safe world. My “other life.” My place in create mode, where I was infinite. Where everything I wasn’t allowed to feel wasn’t just permitted — it was glorified.

It didn’t feel fake. It didn’t feel like a lie. It felt like the truth I had been denied.

Every lyric that told me I was powerful, sexy, wanted, in control — those weren’t fantasies. They were promises. Tiny pieces of liberation that someone else had the courage to sing out loud. And I clung to them like lifelines.

Music didn’t just entertain me. It raised me. It held me. It loved me when the world didn’t know how. It wasn’t an escape. It was survival. Because fantasy isn’t fake — fantasy is freedom with better lighting. And the fantasy of music? It was electric. It was sacred. It was love in audio form.

While we were building fantasy worlds out of lyrics and neon eyeliner, society was busy handing us dress codes and dirty looks. We were just beginning to explore ourselves — through sound, rhythm, movement, imagination — and they shut us down before we could even ask the question:

“What does desire feel like when it’s mine?”

They told us what not to wear. What not to say. How not to move. Because God forbid a girl feel good in her own skin. God forbid she hears a lyric about pleasure — and actually feels pleasure.

The music?

It wasn’t underground. It was everywhere. Every radio station. Every mall speaker. Streaming through every girl’s headphones while she tried to survive homeroom.

The world heard the same lyrics we did — but they weren’t listening. They were too busy scolding girls for dancing to the beat. They cranked up the volume on pop culture but muted the power inside it. Because they didn’t want us to embody the message. They just wanted us to consume it — quietly.

“You can listen to sexy music… but don’t act sexy.”

“You can sing about power… but don’t feel powerful.”

“You can love the fantasy… but don’t become it.”

We weren’t confused. They were. They wanted us sold to — they just didn’t want us to wake up. But baby, we were already awake. We were learning what consent sounded like. What self-worship felt like. What freedom danced like. And no matter how loud they silenced us — the bass was always louder.

This is for the girls who felt the bass in their bones before they ever felt safe in their bodies. For the ones who learned more from their playlists than from any teacher, preacher, or parent. For the girls who fantasized — not because they were naive — but because the real world was too damn cruel to dream in.

You knew. You always knew. That sex wasn’t shameful. That wanting wasn’t wicked. That feeling electric in your skin was a blessing, not a sin. You heard lyrics and understood: That consent could be hot. That desire didn’t have to be dirty. That ownership of your body was your right. You heard “She Bop” and smiled, because someone finally said it out loud.

And when they tried to shut you down — when they tore your mirror down, ripped your jeans, laughed at your questions, banned your lyrics — you went back to the music. To your other world.

To the one that whispered: You’re not wrong. You’re radiant. You danced in your room like it was church. You made playlists like they were prayers. You imagined being kissed, touched, loved — on your terms. And that? That was the beginning of liberation.

So here’s to you.

To the girls who survived the silence with a mixtape in their pocket and revolution in their chest. To the girls who got the message when no one else was listening. Keep your headphones on, babe. Keep your eyeliner sharp. Keep your fantasies sacred and your yeses sovereign.

You were never the problem.

You were the prophecy.

And you’re not done dancing yet.