I am a mold,
Clay to be folded, kneaded, hardend, softened and burned,
to be formed by the tides and the wind
Layer by layer added and scraped again
to break and to be fixed

I am what  I consume
My enviroment makes me
shapes my personality
Untitled
At the time
The movies  watch, the books I read, the characters I envision
become the traits of my everyday demeanor
One, two, three faced
Living under curtains, quick glimpses from under the mask
Gemini personified

If my opinion, my beliefs, and through this my being
are influnecend so easily,
hand crafted, tailored for every stituation and encounter
Is there even such a thing as identity?
At what point do I lose myself through adaptive behaviour?
Who am I without you?
What's a reflection without the mirror?

Who is the true version of me,
the one you see or
the one  that comes out when no one's watching?