Kill the Commentary (Fisher Remix)

They got their PhD in my wreckage
from a Substack and a chilled rosé in a plastic stem
They drop Denny like it’s their coke dealer’s nickname
Then school me on the proper way to fuck men
They’ll die for me on a Saturday, darling
Glitter signs, perfect filter, then back to the ‘burbs
Sweetheart, I don’t need your halo spotlight
I need a cigarette and five minutes of blurred


You talk for me, over me, through me like cheap perfume
Swear you’re raising me up while you’re sealing the tomb
Your solidarity’s a compact mirror, angel
Flip it open; tell me who’s glowing in that rectangle


Turn down the broadcast, baby
I’m deaf from the sparkle and noise
Being queer ain’t your late-night panel
It’s just some boys kissing boys, some men kissing men
Sometimes nobody, sometimes every damn body
It’s left-handed, princess; end of the goddamn story
Kill the commentary, kill the lights
I’m sneaking out the back for the quiet I like


You need a take hotter than the surface of Mercury
My bangs, my breakdown, my zip code’s morality
You Yelp-review uprisings between mimosas
Five stars if the oppressed look pretty on your sofa
I’m over here dodging eviction and ex-lovers
You’re “amplifying voices” while ordering another
Save your think-pieces for the apocalypse, hon
I’m busy being the whole damn phenomenon


Every tweet an audition, every tear a close-up
You’re Oscar-worthy playing “aware” till the credits roll up
Your certainty’s stiletto heels on my spine
I’m too old for this shit and too tired for your line


Turn down the broadcast, baby
I’m deaf from the sparkle and noise
Being queer ain’t your late-night panel
It’s just some girls still kissing girls, some boys kissing boys
Sometimes nobody, sometimes every damn body
It’s left-handed, princess; end of the goddamn story
Kill the commentary, kill the lights
I’m sneaking out the back for the quiet I like


I don’t want your permission slip
I don’t want your protest chic
I don’t need another savior in liquid eyeliner
Explaining a life you only read on a beach
All your noise just drowns out the music
I was dancing to in the kitchen, barefoot, half-stoned, and lucid


So turn the fucking broadcast off, baby
Let the silence put its earrings back on
I’m not your redemption arc, your viral moment, your token
I’m just trying to get home before dawn
It’s left-handed, it’s boring, it’s mine
No parade, no TED Talk, no neon sign
Cut the static, drop the part
I’ve got a date with the dark and a still-beating heart


Yeah… some of us love left-handed.
Always did. Always will.
The rest of you can keep the microphone,
the ring light,
and the standing ovation.
I’m already in the car, windows down,
radio off,
driving nowhere in particular.
Kiss my ass with your solidarity.
I’m good.