As a copy, I find it difficult
To the chase such expectations
Every action is closely dictated
To mimic the original's intentions

Limiting precision and accuracy
Leaves no freedom of expression
I am only an embodiment
Of some product imitation

Every movement I call my own
Only causes more frustration
Because it strays from what is known
Like a phrase lost in translation

What if I was the original?
No longer seen as a mutation
To be the focus and not forgotten
To be the object of admiration

But I am merely just a shadow
A silhouette born into submission
Lost in darkness, behind the light
Cursed with a muted motivation