[Verse 1]
Tuesday night, eleven forty, kitchen light still on,
Mug from Sunday growing culture like it's auditioning for a lawn,
There's a note stuck to the fridge, looping cursive, kinda mean,
"Some people cook, some people just leave stuff" — dang, I guess that's me.
Three roommates, one sink, zero names ever signed,
Just a paper trail of grudges we're too polite to speak aloud, so we write it in rhyme.
I pen one back, lighter ink, sharper tone,
Now the fridge's got a whole correspondence, and nobody's home.
We pass each other hallway, nod, say nothing true,
Taking umbrage — quiet offense — over a bowl of leftover stew.
The clock's indifferent, the water's gone to rust,
We're curating a tiny museum of forgotten trust.
[Chorus]
Nobody's saying it, everybody's feeling it,
Resentment piles up like the dishes in the sink,
Say it once, out loud, before it hardens overnight,
Before the quiet turns into a thing we can't unthink.
[Verse 2]
So Thursday, Deja grabs her phone, says "let's try this instead,"
Opens a little chat, just the three of us, no bread
Crumbs, no guessing who's online, no sticky note to peel,
One thread with a security code to get in, private, locked, and real.
She types it plain: "the pot's been soaking since Tuesday, that's rough,"
No cursive dagger, just the fact, said once, and that's enough.
Marcus answers, kind of sheepish, says he'll handle it tonight,
Nobody performed a speech, nobody had to fight.
We set the code so only three of us can ever get inside,
Just three names, one thread, nowhere left to hide.
Turns out naming the thing small keeps it from turning to a flood,
Type it, send it, let it land — not simmer in your blood.
[Bridge]
Still some nights the sink's a mirror, showing who forgot,
The app won't wash a single plate, won't cool a pan that's hot,
Won't make you like the way she stacks the bowls, or how he eats,
Still gonna bicker over whose turn, who bought the soap,
But at least it's said once, plain, not left to quietly grope,
Some friction's just the rent you pay for sharing one address, three heats.
[Chorus]
Nobody's saying it, everybody's feeling it,
Resentment piles up like the dishes in the sink,
Say it once, out loud, before it hardens overnight,
Before the quiet turns into a thing we can't unthink.
[Verse 3]
Months go by, the habit sticks, the thread gets lived-in, worn,
A place for small complaints to land before they're fully born,
"Out of coffee," "turn the heat down," "whose shoes block the door,"
Nothing's heavy anymore, it's just the ordinary score.
Deja laughs, says "funny how a lock made us feel safe to speak,"
Marcus nods, says silence was the loudest thing all week.
I delete the old cursive note, don't need the paper trail,
Three names, one code, one room — honesty instead of mail.