[Verse 1] I keep my name in the pocket of my coat, next to bus stubs, half-melted gum, and the key that fits nothing anymore. I learned early how to smile with my teeth and leave the rest of me outside the room. My mother said, “Don’t let them hear you crack.” So I swallowed the splinters and called it grace. I called it getting by. I called it staying. [Pre-Chorus] But the crack got louder. The crack got honest. It started spelling my life in the hallway glass. And I stood there with my hands shaking, thinking maybe breaking is a language too. [Chorus] Say my name plain. Say it clean. I am here. I am seen. Say my name plain. Let it ring. I am here. I am seen. [Verse 2] There was a winter I wore silence like armor, twelve long weeks of nodding at doors, of eating dinner like I owed the plate something. I watched the sink fill up with cold black water, and I thought: this is what disappearing sounds like. Not a scream. Just dishes. Then one day I laughed too hard at a joke that wasn’t funny, and the sound surprised me— alive, bright, mine. [Pre-Chorus] So I let it out. I let it stumble. I let the ugly part sit in the light. No more polished, no more perfect, just this raw little truth with dirt on its hands. [Chorus] Say my name plain. Say it clean. I am here. I am seen. Say my name plain. Let it ring. I am here. I am seen. [Bridge] If you meet me at my weakest, don’t build a shrine. Don’t call me fragile. Just pass me the rope and stand back while I learn my own hands. I am not a wound for you to admire. I am a door that finally opens. [Final Chorus] Say my name plain. Say it clean. I am here. I am seen. Say my name plain. Let it ring. I am here. I am seen. Say my name plain. I won’t fade. I was built from what remained. Say my name plain. Let it ring. I am here. I am seen.
