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A Name
Sydney is my name,
 But who am I?
 They might have called me Lily,
 Or maybe even Becky.
 But instead they called me Sydney.
 
 Art is what I do,
 But who am I?
 I wished to be a bird
 A hawk to be precise,
 So as to fly fierce and swift.
 But in place of wings I have my artist’s hands.
 
 Sydney, Squid, Syd,
 These are my names.
 Drawing, writing, painting,
 These are the things I do.
 
 Once more I ask, who am I?
 I do not have wings.
 I am not called lily.
 
 I am Sydney.
 I am an artist.
 Undiluted by childhood wishes,
 This is who I am,
 This is who I shall stay.

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Its a question I wanted awnsered.