literature

My Name

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Literature Text

   My name means undecided. For how can I say that my name is that which was given to me by my mother? This is not I, it is but a false allegation someone made of me before they even knew the real me.
   My name is Black; I am bland, nothing, the person that blends in anywhere. These things are true of me, but I am also full of possibilities, like the ink in a pen or the led in my pencil. I could draw the most beautiful picture in the whole world, or prove false the greatest theories known to man. But this is not the real I.
   My true name is Diver. I'm constantly pushing myself to the edge, ready to jump. I don't know where the flight will take me, but I have hopes on where is will lead. How is it that I don't care? Because I know that the end is far from here to adventures I've yet to have. But this is not the true I.
   My true name is Original. You will see me drawing a willycoalax or maybe a nillianoliack. On rare occasions you might see me write about the 4th King of the Lion, Lyion White; or even Eli Hawk, the dead immortal. All of these are things which reside in me, for life is what you make it and no super villain or Baku can change that. Yet, alas, we have again fallen on a name which is not mine to claim.
   My name is Justice. This is the name given to me by those who birth me. In choosing this name for me, it has become my name. Those who birth me have made me free, they have given me a chance to walk down a path that I choose to walk. I am only beginning to understand my path was laid out by an invisible force, to fulfill a purpose that only I can do.
   I have given myself many names and have been called countless others, but only one name captures who I am. Only one name is everything I am under one roof. Inksm3ar. Ink, full of possibilities so wonderfully guided by the artists hand, but free of his will as no two smears are identical to the other. A foreign language many fail to understand, like Diving off a cliff into something few others have. Most of all, I am what you make me out to be. You are not I so you will never see every side of who I am. To you, I am "the author of that poem".
This is the story of my name. Who I am. Who I want me. Can you see me? Can you guess who the real I is. And if you can what does that me?
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