Who I used to be is the girl                                                                                                                   That slipped through the crowd,                                                                                                                Never once made a sound.                                                                                                                       A Chameleon of sorts                                                                                                                            That'd blend into every background.

Alone and guarded                                                                                                                              Arms that hid her heart,                                                                                                                  Silence that disguised her soul.                                                                                                             Eyes on the clock                                                                                                                                  Every *tick* took its toll. 

Later they'd discover her                                                                                                                       And mistake her as "a quiet one, really."                                                                                                 But the few that'd care to see her                                                                                                       Would hear her when she whispered,                                                                                                     "You can call me Keeley."    

The person I became is the girl                                                                                                           Who forgot how to whisper                                                                                                                        When she learned how to sing.                                                                                              Who forgot to speak only when spoken to                                                                                              When life bent down and kissed her. 

The person I became is the girl                                                                                                                Who is who she was                                                                                                                            Only when she glances in the rearview mirror.                                                                                 Because that ghost of a girl stopped off miles back                                                                               Nameless, but content to build sandcastles in the dust.  

The person I became is the girl                                                                                                           Who, though surrounded                                                                                                                          By snap chats, snap shots, and snapping fingers                                                                             Always seems to find herself                                                                                                                 Drawing, writing, composing                                                                                                                 Who she really is.                                                                                                                                       Who I really am.                                                                                                                                                                         

The person I became is the girl who can proudly wear my name,                                                          No longer as a scar, a bruise, an apologetic whisper                                                                            But as a badge of honor.                                                                                                                         My name,                                                                                                                                                My Purple Heart.                                                                                                                                       My name,                                                                                                                                               My Silver Star.                                                                                                                                        For the person I became had to fight a war.                                                                                               With herself.                                                                                                                                             For that Name.