A Person Someday

I can mold myself

I am made of clay

Come here children, and teach me how to play

The day isn’t over

So I won’t go back to my hole



I need not be a teacher

Need not be a priest

My person is not yet complete

Which makes me cold in the night?

There being only part of me

Or the part that I have

Being made of plastic, not flesh



Watch me, I’m pathetic

And sadly conspicuous

Beg with you

Bargain with you

Just to take a piece of you

And make it part of me



I’ll stalk my prey

In a field of superficiality

Until a find just the right way

To mimic what I want to be



You are a copy

And I am a copy of a copy

There was someone real once

But that person has been gone long since