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."