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Alycia Steck '25

I could sell my moniker in bottles 

For five quarters and a dime, but for you 

My name is a gift I slip in your palm. 

Each bottle a present to make amends. 

Everything I possess is in bottles, 

Imprisoned within these crystal borders. 

Alycia is spirit, a trickle

Of mirth. I watch you sip these pure, distilled, 

Forever obscured liquid syllables.

My name is a medley that once bound me.

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