10 Types of Lyrical Affirmations
Songs hold the power to legitimize and corroborate our experiences as real
Cloistered by the expanse of brick that encircles the Silliman College courtyard, I braced myself for the brutal, unfathomable, five-minute trek that lay ahead of me on my walk to some class I have since forgotten about. I was depressed. I was yearnful. I was lonely. Luckily, my parasocial boyfriend—Omar Apollo—had just released an album to cure my desire for an authentic romance. As I was exiting Silliman, I slipped my Airpods in and pressed play. Mr. Apollo softly yodeled in my ear over a mellow stream of guitar strings and snares: “Handsome and tall, my baby. They think he gets all the ladies–” I paused the song. What did he just say?
“Handsome and tall, my baby. They think he gets all the ladies.”
Replaying the song, Omar repeated the lyrics. “Handsome and tall, my baby. They think he gets all the ladies.” There it was again: “He.” He? Yes, He! Chuckling to myself, there was no way I could mask my joy. It was rare that the pronouns of love songs affirmed the gender I find myself attracted to and even rarer that the singer of these lyrics simultaneously shared my gender identity. Even now, I can only name a few examples of such songs: Waiting on You - Omar Apollo (refer to video above), Forrest Gump - Frank Ocean, DAYDREAM - Destin Conrad, A BOY IS A GUN* - Tyler the Creator and Static - Steve Lacy. Up to this point, I had never questioned the heteronormativity that plagues the lyrical landscapes of my favorite genres. So for years, subtle minutiae of this sort went unacknowledged. Though a very tiny epiphany, my brain chemistry was altered thereafter.
At this moment, the image of my internal narrator humming along to Omar’s words was no longer translucent. I could see my inner self in 4K resolution. He was espresso-toned, tall, and everything else that describes my internal and external appearance. He, too, liked men. He, too, hoped to love one, and only one, man someday. However unpleasant it may be, he also desired to be troubled by society’s inadequate assumptions of his partner because a troubling love is still love. He desired a love that was exactly as Omar described: worrisome, sparingly jealous but jealous nonetheless, and mind-occupying. In hearing this song, it felt as though Omar had plagiarized my consciousness. Yet in doing so, he had simultaneously confirmed my being. My queerness could no longer be an anti-realism born out of my delusions because I was Omar, and he was I. There he was, a complete stranger living life in a way akin to my own. For so many years, I had struggled with self-deception, invalidation, and erasure through connotations society fed me surrounding gay and Queer identities. For twenty-one years, my soul had internalized self-hating emotions and regurgitated them to itself until I believed myself to be defunct. That is why I chuckled. I chuckled out of irony. I was never a heretic nor a liar; the world was and still is. It was time to set the record straight, and that is exactly what I did: I sat in my own skin, totally unabashed.
This anecdote is just one of many that have chain-reacted me into the man I am today. Let’s be clear though, I have been a music critic of sorts for some time, so this was neither my first Omar Apollo song nor was it my first encounter with a Queer male artist speaking to a shared Queer experience. It was, however, the first time I had the language to understand and recognize the power of words as experience affirmers. Since then, I have been an incredibly active yet selective consumer of music. A song mustn't be perfect to move me. But, it better a) feature strong lyrics and b) reinforce my identities and humanity like that lady on What Would You Do.
As an introduction into who I am, the very first Line-By-Line ever will be dedicated to lyrics that embody both of the aforementioned attributes. When life “lifes,” these lyrics offer a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear, or a head to nod along. In the most affirming way, these songs corroborate that your emotions and sensations are non-unique; someone else has survived or celebrated what you are experiencing. Take comfort in that knowledge. There are affirmations for everyone; you can choose which ones you relate to:
1. The Affirmation for Romantics
“Better than the typical, 'Honey, I'm home’ shit. Why we even makin' love when you're tired of this? Said that you'll be working late for the third time this week. Watch your love go astray 'cause our love's too routine, too routine.”
I pine for love. Or as I said before, I yearn for love but not just any love. I desire a deep and fulfilling love. A love of symbiotic enhancement of the mind and spirit. I don’t want stagnation. Finding romance has already been near impossible for me, and I don’t think there has been a single week for the past eight years of my life that I have not been overly aware of my dating status. So when I finally do get the relationship I have longed for, I ought not to become burdened by its monotony. This song really hits home for me because Summer Walker isn’t asking for much. She just wants to be fought for. She wants to be constantly reminded that someone cares because the world may try to convince her otherwise. When you are an afterthought of consideration to society, the one person you would hope is the most chalant about you is your partner. It only takes a bit of spontaneity and passion. That’s it. May we all find a love worthy of rioting for.
2. The Affirmation for Hard Workers
“There's been trials and tribulations. You know I've had my share. But I've climbed a mountain, I've crossed a river. And I'm almost there, I'm almost there, I'm almost there.”
Growing up in Atlanta, I thought I was hot shit. School came naturally to me. As the top of my class and a star basketball player (albeit closeted), I was confident that no person, system, or structure could prevent me from reaching my goals. In an all-Black environment where my teachers, doctors, government officials, and so forth were Black, the myths of racism, classism, and later, homophobia were exactly that: myths. It was not until I left Atlanta for a PWI (predominantly white institution) that I came face-to-face with each of the monstrous discriminations of legend. And boy, did they humble me: School was not easy. I was underprepared emotionally, sexually, academically, fiscally, etc. While traversing syllabi that were impossible to complete within a single semester, I also had to familiarize myself with academic classics, mirror northeast elite rhetoric, memorize hotspot destinations where people “Summered,” navigate a varied and cliquey social scene, interact with the uberwealthy, land internships every summer, gain admission to and score leadership within school clubs, and so much more. And worse, I was to do all of this without any community. To be a Black descendant of slaves, gay, and a southerner who was relatively under-resourced was a statistical impossibility. In a way, I was now a myth in my own right. However, I defied even greater odds. I graduated! And this song helped to the finish line. Each semester, the words of this mantra rang through my mind: “I’m almost there, almost there.” Now that I’ve gotten “there,” it is time to move the goalpost and continue striving forward to greater destinations.
3. The Affirmation for Queers Queens
“I’m a bad bitch, and I’m that nigga.”
Looking back, I cringe at the fact that I used to claim to be “masc4masc.” As a baby-gay during my freshman year of college, I was fresh out of the closet and unpacking the bounteous loads of trauma that came with being 18 years a Christian slave—or at least a slave to Black Christian orthodoxy. It was the first time in my life I could live totally for myself. However, I didn’t quite know who the “myself” I needed to live for was. College was a safe haven to grow into myself. Yet, with all growth comes growing pains. I tried real crop tops (not those new-age slightly cropped shirts that the straggot men have appropriated). They weren’t for me. I did the dangle earring for some time. For much of college, the pearl necklace was my staple. But despite all the attempts of feminizing myself, I realized that I didn’t want to limit myself. I wanted to embody both femininity and masculinity because I am both “that bitch and that nigga” and because they’re both fun. I like bags and purses, and I love sneaker culture. I love basketball and drag queens. I love ballroom culture and Opium. My left nipple is pierced, but my right one is not. I mansplain often, but I can’t stand beer. I’m a catwalking contradiction. And you should be too. Life is too short for the binary, and the world is advancing beyond the binary anyways. Allow your brain to operate on the real-valued spectrum it desires.
4. The Affirmation for Black People
“All I see is black stars, and I friggin’ love it, yeah, yeah. Time’s up, tell the people that we comin’, yeah, yeah. Done bein’ in the shadow, going public, yeah, yeah. Don’t know how to bear it, how to stomach, yeah, yeah. Hand over the shit and let us run, yeah, yeah.”
College exposed me to so many peoples of varying origins. I now have friends of any race, from every inhabitable continent, of every socioeconomic status. In particular, my conception of Blackness evolved tremendously. 86% of all Black people do not live in the United States. As a typical American, I once thought that Black America was the center of the universe. It is not. Globally, there is no monolithic Blackness. The US alone demonstrates that there is a wide array of Black identities. There are northern Black elites in Martha’s Vineyard. There are Black hillbillies in rural Georgia. There are So-Cal Black skaters; Naija immigrants in the DMV; Afro-Latine families in every borough of New York City; Creole baddies in Texas and NOLA; and so many other multiplicities of Blackness. After college, I have grown to better understand the legitimacy of my own culture as a descendant of American slaves and reveled in the similarities and differences within the global African diaspora. On this record, on what I believe is one of the best rap albums of all time, Little Simz sheds light on one of the most beautiful creatures on this planet—Black women. As the backbone and mothers of our world, Simz makes reference to the varying types of Black women in the world: Jamaican, Ghanaian, Naija, Black American, Sierra Leonean, Tanzanian, Ethiopian, and Bajan. I, of course, am not a woman. But, the Blackness I know is matriarchal, and in 2024, it is the Black woman that continues to lead the way, whether it be Ketanji Brown Jackson, Kamala Harris, Stacey Abrams, or so many others. The Black woman is my king! My favorite show was written by a Black woman. My favorite author was a Black woman. Most of my favorite musical artists are Black women. My favorite comedian is a Black woman. My favorite philosopher is a Black woman. Black women are my North Star, and they ought to be yours as well.
5. The Affirmation for Existentialists
“You have no control; who lives, who dies, who tells your story.”
Picture this: it was Summer 2020. The COVID-19 pandemic had reached its peak. Everyone was trapped in their homes. My plan to visit the eleven schools I was admitted to was shattered. My senior year trip to Orlando was also dissolved. And my success felt meaningless and arbitrary in comparison to the earth-shattering yet microscopic spiky ball that spread across the planet. Nothing mattered. Free will felt meaningless, and I was hyper aware of the frivolity of human life. In comes Disney+. On July 3, 2020, Disney+ released my first-watched and favorite musical: Hamilton. Hamilton was the soundtrack that scored me a 5 on the AP US History Exam, motivated me to apply to highly selective colleges, and was one of the reasons I dreamt of living in the “greatest city in the world.” At the time, this release was one of the few positive announcements I received while being a patient in the mental asylum disguised as my home. And so on July 3, I watched it. It exceeded my expectations, and all was fine.
Idling about during the weeks thereafter, ennui began to steer my emotional control panel, so naturally out of boredom, I rewatched Hamilton. There was nothing better to do. So again, I opted to hear Lin Man Miranda struggle to hold a note and see Jonathan Groff rain saliva upon the camera, but something about this viewing was different. I was understanding a motif that was lost on me the first time. The show ended. Everything appeared normal. I walked upstairs to my bedroom; laid on the floor seeking some new mindless activity to distract me. But, the lyrics of the closing number kept replaying in my head: “Who lives, who dies, who tells your story.” All the emotions that were being overshadowed by ennui erupted from my eyes like a dormant volcano. I was balling on the floor; and for the next thirty minutes, I had an existential panic attack unlike any other.
At this point in the story, you might be thinking (as I often do), “Hamilton?... Really?” But let me explain the mental pathway that resulted in my tantrum: It took Lin Manuel Miranda seven years to write Hamilton, and for much of that journey he only had one song written. He wrote on the train, he wrote on the subway, in his apartment, and wherever else he was inspired1. But, he didn’t give up because he felt and knew that Hamilton was a story worth telling. See, as I’m sure we all now know, Hamilton was a complex man who had much of his lineage and history erased literally and figuratively. His son was killed at an early age and his wife burned many of his records. So, his legacy was tarnished and tattered. Despite being just as pivotal to the origins of the United States, other founding fathers—George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, and even John Hancock—often held more notoriety than Hamilton. This is why Miranda was so adamant about telling Hamilton’s story, but this is also why the closing lyrics rang so loudly in my mind. Had Lin Manuel Miranda not come across Hamilton’s story, would the granular details of Hamilton’s life be as mainstream as they are today? Or worse, 100 years from now would Hamilton be trivialized to nothingness despite fathering some of the primordial underpinnings of our country? Who knows, but it seems likely he would have been forgotten just like so many others. For every Hamilton or Washington, there were countless men and women, slaves and servants, enemies and allies, that contributed to society without acknowledgement beyond death. These people are so invisibilized to us that they practically never existed to begin with. This was the epiphany that induced a storm of tears. I could be as well-known as Hamilton or I could be remembered by very few people, but regardless of who lives, who dies, or who tells my story, I will be forgotten eventually. And not only will I be forgotten, at some point, I will have never existed to begin with.
6. The Affirmation for Metaphysicians
“Exist in superposition. Life's all about contradiction: Yin and yang, Fluidity, and things. I'm me; I'm God. I'm everything. I'm my own reason why I sing. And so are you, are you understanding?”
Speaking of philosophy and existentialism, Daniel Caesar is one of my favorite lyricists of all-time. Like so many other writers, Daniel is also a metaphysician of sorts, and this song really soothes my philosophy-coded brain. Daniel just gets me. Let’s backtrack, though; in order to understand this song, you must first learn a tiny bit of physics. Newtonian physics is the classical physics taught in high school. This discipline is concerned with the mechanics of scenarios like balls rolling down hills, or planets in orbit, or springs oscillating up and down. In this type of physics, so long as you have enough values of an object’s speed, position, acceleration, etc., you can calculate all physical outcomes. More importantly, only singular outcomes can occur: if I calculate that a ball in the air has a negative velocity due to gravity, the ball will undoubtedly go downward towards Earth’s surface. There is no possibility of the ball going up. And this is the case for all macroscopic objects that are the size of an atom or larger. Quantum physics, however, is concerned with particles smaller than atoms. Think electrons and photons. Unlike the macroscopic objects, the outcomes of these particles cannot be predicted with certainty. All that is known is the probabilities of each respective outcome because quantum particles can actually exist in states of superposition, meaning they have the potential to realize multiple outcomes until they are measured. In an analogous example to the ball in the air, let’s say we had an electron that could either go up with a nonzero probability or down with a nonzero probability. Because electrons are quantum particles, we could not say with certainty whether the electron would go up or down. In fact, the electron is said to go both up and down, until we as observers measure the singular outcome that is realized. Somehow the electron goes up and down, but when we measure which direction it goes, we (as observers) will only ever see the electron go up or down? But, never both?
This is just one of the many ways particles at quantum scales behave in a counterintuitive, contradictory way. When considering that everything in the universe consists of quantum particles, it could then be said that all of us are walking contradictions, with potentials of complementary outcomes. Or as Daniel puts it, we “exist in superposition2.” We are the “yin and yang, fluidity, and things” he alludes to. And it gets even spookier! Under some interpretations of quantum physics, no thing is distinct from any other thing. Or put a different way, everything in the universe is one, composite thing. Thus, so long as God is within our universe or is the universe itself, you are God, everything, the reason why you sing, and most romantically, you are your lover3. It is this last part of Caesar’s lyrics that warms my heart. I often say that one of the beauties of homosexual love is that your partner gets to be a mirror of who you are; you get to experience an intimacy with an individual who walks this world in the same gendered expression that you do. And while I’m sure straggotry is fun, this is an intimacy unique to Queer love. Under this framework, however, all beings—no matter what orientation—can appreciate that in some sense they are physically sharing all of the same time and space as their lover. Maybe I’m a hopeless romantic, but I just love how intimate this potentiality is.
7. The Affirmation for Overthinkers
“Losin’ my mind. Think I look good when I’m really just high. Scared of my life, can a bitch get by? (Get by)”
I personally think that my brain is my strongest asset. The earliest memories I can recall are of me in my crib reviewing vocabulary words and basic math on flashcards. In elementary school, I read the entirety of my school’s library. In high school, I was a debate nerd and annoying AP student. I studied mathematics and philosophy in college. And now, I write and read for a living. I don’t say this to be boastful but rather to demonstrate that I’ve invested in something that is inherently intangible and inaccessible to every other being in existence: my mind. I’ve expended a ton of energy into improving Brian—that’s what I call my brain—by constantly learning, musing, and ruminating. However, one unintended consequence of thinking all the time is that I sometimes forget to interact with the outside world. I am so often enthralled by the expansive spider web of beliefs in my mind that I fail to appreciate the world outside of myself. But in my defense, my mind feels safer. The world can be so depressing when you are constantly berated and overwhelmed by the information overload of world catastrophes via the internet. Yet, I question whether my anxieties of the world are negative manifestations of my own misanthropy or an imposter syndrome injected into me by the invisible needle of neoliberalism. In other words, am I too critical of others or am I just insecure? I probably suffer from a bit of both.
Everyday, there’s a battleground in my head, and I don’t know which camp—my self-esteem or critique of others—is winning the war. I’d like to think I maintain a healthy balance… But ultimately, my low self-esteem may be to blame. Too often do I scorn humanity in my mind as a projection of my self-doubt. Many times my disdain for others is a reflected distaste for a negative quality about myself or a positive quality in someone that I am envious of… No, that’s not fully true either, though. The world sucks. I have been microaggressed. Generational disenfranchisement has left my familial relations strained by every metric of sociology (financial, education, political, social, religious, ethical, and so on)… I’ve worked my ass off and can’t slack off… Hard work is meaningless; the broader systems at hand will always have greater autonomy over myself than I do. That is what capitalism, aristocracy, bipartisanship, republics do… Hmm, but are external affairs totally to blame for my internal state(s)?... I could ramble and muse on to no end about this topic, but I think you get the point. Clearly, I have an issue: I overthink everything. Even, this paragraph itself is evidence of my chronic problem. Is anything ever that deep? I think yes, but alas, that would be yet another aside. This illness of overthinking is what SZA speaks to; constantly, there are “miles runnin’ wild through my head” but “time keeps moving forward.” If you suffer from being a thought daughter like myself, then SZA’s words may help to turn down the noise. Stream CTRL. Slow down. Take a breath. Go outside. And lastly, touch grass. <3
8. The Affirmation for Proletarians
“Old friends like, ‘Dude, man, it’s been a minute.’ Same old excuse that I’m always giving. Life’s just been lifin’, ah. Life’s just been lifin’, ah.”
*Disclaimer: this is a safe space for Gen-Z and some millennials.*
Technology has resulted in an abstract space-time compression. I can see South Africa in a matter of seconds without needing to book a several-hundred-dollar flight to Jo-burg. I have learned about linguistics, credit cards, music theory, book recommendations, and much more within a matter of minutes. While learning is fun, learning too much can be overwhelming. On the same platforms, I’ve also seen hot couples in New York go clubbing every night then return to their bougie apartments. I’ve seen comics perform by day and walk high-fashion runways by night. I’ve watched fashion influencers adorn their bodies with garments I couldn’t even begin to imagine purchasing due to the price alone. Though the information overload of social media platforms has been educational, it also induces envy, depression, and anxiety. I’m never doing enough, and everyone else is doing so much better than me. Yet, so many others are also struggling much more than I am. Ultimately, I’ve become paralyzed. I can’t win for winning, and I definitely can’t win for losing. Pair this mental health paralysis with the oversaturated job market, and the world had created an apathetic, drug-addicted student, who was barely making enough to get by. This, at least, was who I was when I first listened to Destin’s lyrics earlier this year. At the time, I was probably being melodramatic as a result of my hyper-competitive collegiate environment. But now, the lyrics hold even more true. Now, I’m still all of the above descriptions. Except I’m sober, and I am no longer struggling to get by financially—I’m beyond struggle; I’ve been buried alive in a deficit of far greater magnitudes. I’ve barely seen my friends for months. And job rejections are my new norm. What better summation of my status than “life’s just been lifin’.” Maybe this is just my pessimistic, glass-half-empty perspective but I know somebody, somewhere out there feels like me and Destin.
9. The Affirmation for Pessimists
“Pushing and peeling the layers that cover my mind. Looking into the shadow, now I notice the light. Magic is real, when you see it inside, you decide. It’s like a snake shedding skin, creating life to begin, and all you know has vanished again.”
Empathogen is one of my favorite albums that was released this year and an instant classic in my book. This song in particular highlights the best qualities of her project: jazzy vibes, interesting time signatures, siren-like vocals, and peak lyricism. For me, this album evokes a nostalgic reminiscence of an extremely difficult time in my life. It was my final semester in college, and I was enrolled in arguably the hardest schedule of my career—Philosophy of Quantum Mechanics, Computation Theory, Bio 101, Ordinary Differential Equations, and Quantum Physics & Beyond. In addition, I was required to write an additional senior essay in the Philosophy of Quantum Mechanics in order to complete my major and needed to find a job before graduation. But, life didn’t let up. I ended up acquiring three separate infections over the course of this semester, one of which was strep throat that reappeared thrice after multiple efforts to get rid of it. One of my scholarship checks was lost in the mail, so the school was pressing me for money I did not have all while I was $4000 in debt after a brief visit to the hospital for a concussion I received at the end of the previous semester. To make matters worse, I had two additional final exams that I had missed due to this concussion.
Oh, but there was more. One of my professors from the previous semester neglected submitting my final grade, putting me at risk of not graduating. The directors of my major harassed me out of fear that I would not graduate. I had to constantly remind my professor to input my grade. Thankfully, my professor finally submitted my grade. But he gave me a C+. I was livid; there was no way possible I could have earned a C+. Turns out my professor forgot to retrieve my midterm from accessibility services and underestimated my attendance, awarding me a zero on the midterm and a failing participation grade despite being one of his most active students. Again, I had to engage in back-and-forth correspondence to finalize my grade. For some perspective, my grade was not finalized (although still inaccurate) until well after the midpoint of the semester—around week eight. However, grades were originally due during the second week of classes. Finally near the final five weeks, I pierced the bottom of my foot on a gate while wearing Crocs. No, I was not horsing around or being careless. It was just my luck that semester. For about two weeks, I was unable to walk on my left foot, all while living on the fourth floor of a walk-up-only dorm building. I took my antibiotics, laid in bed, and caught up on rest for the final sprint of my life.
I won’t bore you with the other stressors of that time because I think you get the point: WILLOW could not have dropped this gem at a better time for me. Life was gray. I was prepared to give up on everything, but I didn’t. I instead opted to take joy in the positives that college and youthfulness afforded me. “Looking into the shadow,” I noticed the light. I finished an insane semester—not necessarily with flying colors—by giving my best effort in spite of adversity. I partied my final days of college away and then walked across the stage to receive my diploma. My enemies were hard at work, but I worked harder. I was “a snake shedding skin, creating life to begin…” Life ebbs and flows. You logically cannot have the good without the bad. Though the bad may pile up at times, stay optimistic, and see the beauty in all of it. Experience in itself can be a luxury, especially when not everyone is as fortunate to experience life at all. So be sure to live your life. Absorb all of it—the good, the bad, and the ugly! “Beauty is a symptom of life;” it’s up to you to decide if you are going to bask in it.
10. The Affirmation for Party Animals
“We run things; things don’t run we. Don’t take nothing from nobody, yeah, yeah.”
Say what you want about Miley’s “edgy” era, but she appropriated. She had me in the club, high on purp (at eleven years old, mind you), on a wrecking ball. And I, of course, liked “to party, dancing with Molly.” On the record, my college is not considered a party school by any popular metric. Still, I may have partied a bit too hard while there. I am just a few months out of graduation, and I have already forgotten the bulk of my partying, however there are some moments that do stand out, each with this song playing in the background: 1) Junior year, I went to a party at a popular frat on campus; the summer prior was my first time living in New York. I cut my hair; I buffed up. I, again, was the hot shit I once thought I was. Naturally, I decided to take off my shirt because I was hot and twirl it in the air while my friend sang down at me from the table she climbed on. “This is our house. This is our rules,” we belted with in unison. 2) I have only ever had two official birthday parties in my life. One of which was when I was two or three years old; I’m not sure which age it was because I don’t actually have memory of this event. I only have the photos. My other party was for my twenty-second birthday. When choosing which songs would be on the playlist, Ms. Miley’s hit-record was a no-brainer. I threw on my best outfit, got belligerently plastered, and sang my lungs out. For all you partiers, this song is a must-play in any setting—club, bar, apartment. The elicited freedoms characterized in this song communicate a message of youth and promise that is unmatched by other party anthems. The world is ours for the taking. “We run things, things don’t run we.”
Which affirmations do you relate to most? Let me know in the comments or Chat!
He’s only officially been quoted to write on the subway, but I think it’s safe to assume he wrote in his apartment and other places at least once throughout the seven years it took him to write the play.
This is only true if you take on certain philosophies of quantum mechanics that reject definite outcomes and/or collapse.
I think it’s kinda cool that religion can corroborate this: “So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him…” (Genesis 1:27).