Trying to define yourself.
Through other things like art that you like.
Or music.
Or books.
Somehow.
Everyone finds a fit.
They can describe themselves
through these mediums.
I can't even describe myself
through my own words.
I can't even speak clearly.
I trip. Trip. Trip up on what I try to say in everyday conversation.
Anxious. Anxious. Anxiety wells in my throat.
I'll draw a blank.
I feel empty.
Like a nobody.
Worthless shell.
With nothing to say.
I just don't really have an opinion.
I am one of those.
But who are those?
Is there more like me?
Stuck without a way to express oneself.
Except through acting like others?
I'll take on your face.
Your hair.
Your walk.
Your motions and mannerisms.
Let me wear your mask.
I am the ultimate sponge borrowing your books.
Listening to your music.
Eating your foods.
And finding your favorites to be mine as well.
I am the ultimate façade.
A faceless leech with nothing to say.
I will bring nothing to your table because you do not accept me.
I am too easily bored to stay long anyway.
So there I'll go.
I'll just wander around.Soaking up your life.
And leaving a trail behind of every mask I've worn.
"I am just a copy of a copy of a copy."