Don’t Be A Copycat
Don’t be a copycat, carbon and thin,
Tracing the outline of somebody’s skin.
Don’t wear a voice that was never your own,
Or live in a shadow where nothing has grown.
It’s easy to echo what others have said,
To borrow their dreams and sleep in their bed.
To mimic their laughter, their swagger, their stride,
And tuck your own spark safely inside.
But what is a mirror that never looks back?
A face with no features, a sky that is black.
A song with no tremor, no crack in the tone,
A house full of people that feels like a loan.
You weren’t born blank like a page to be filled
With copies of others’ ambitions and wills.
You came with a rhythm, a pulse in your chest,
A pattern of thought that won’t match the rest.
Maybe your laugh is too loud for the room.
Maybe your plans don’t fit in with the gloom.
Maybe your questions make some people squirm.
Good. That’s your fire. Let it burn.
Copycats crouch in the corners of trends,
Waiting to see how the story line ends.
They study the winners, they follow the crowd,
They measure their worth by applause that is loud.
They sharpen their claws on whatever is new,
Paint their own feathers the fashionable hue.
But when the wind changes and fashions all fade,
They’re left with a costume that they never made.
It’s safer to copy. It’s neat. It’s approved.
You’ll rarely be doubted or deeply reproved.
You’ll fit in the mold with a comfortable click,
Predictable, polished, rehearsed and slick.
But safe isn’t living. It’s barely a breath.
It’s walking a hallway that circles to death.
It’s coloring lines that somebody drew
And never once asking what colors are you.
What do you love when nobody sees?
What thought keeps you up in the hush of three?
What makes your pulse quicken, your jaw set tight?
What feels like a hill that you’re meant to fight?
That’s where your difference waits in the dark,
Not loud like a siren but small like a spark.
It flickers and whispers, “Please don’t pretend.
I’m fragile right now, but I want to ascend.”
The world does not need another disguise,
Another set of borrowed eyes.
It doesn’t need echoes that rattle and fade,
Or replicas carefully, perfectly made.
It needs your crooked, uneven lines.
Your awkward pauses. Your strange designs.
The way you mispronounce certain words,
The way your ideas sound slightly absurd.
It needs your stubborn, inconvenient truth.
Your wild ambition. Your reckless youth.
Your scars that don’t match a polished mold.
Your stories that haven’t yet been told.
A copycat chases a glittering crown,
Runs every race with their head bowed down.
They measure success by another’s chart,
Never once listening close to their heart.
But crowns grow heavy when they don’t belong.
Applause rings hollow. Praise feels wrong.
You can win the stage and lose your core,
Smile for the crowd and still feel poor.
There’s courage in stepping out alone,
In building a path that’s never been shown.
In saying, “I know this may look strange,
But this is my shape. I won’t rearrange.”
Original minds are often dismissed,
Laughed at, doubted, barely kissed
By early approval or easy grace.
They stumble. They fall flat on their face.
But every stumble leaves a mark
That maps a route through the dark.
Every misstep, every scar,
Proves that you know exactly who you are.
Think of the forests. No two leaves
Share the same small twists and weaves.
The river does not apologize
For carving cliffs in jagged lines.
The moon does not copy the sun’s bright flare.
It rules the night with borrowed glare,
Yet even in that reflective glow
It waxes and wanes in its own slow show.
Nature does not repeat for comfort’s sake.
It risks new forms with every wake.
Storms invent shapes in the shifting sky.
Seeds split open. Branches pry.
Why then should you compress your art
To match the beat of a borrowed heart?
Why trade your pulse for a safer sound
That keeps you average, neatly bound?
Yes, standing out can sting at first.
It feels like walking through a thirst
For validation, nods, and praise
That never quite arrives in waves.
You might feel foolish, raw, exposed.
You might feel like the door is closed.
You might watch others fit right in
While you sit outside with restless skin.
But fitting in is not the prize.
It’s blending colors until they die.
It’s sanding edges until they’re smooth,
Until there’s nothing left to prove.
Better a jagged, honest line
Than a flawless shape that isn’t mine.
Better a voice that shakes with fear
Than a perfect echo, cold and clear.
Don’t be a copycat chasing applause,
Borrowing style without knowing the cause.
Don’t shrink your vision to match the frame
Of someone else’s louder name.
Study. Be inspired. Learn the craft.
Stand on shoulders. Do the math.
There’s wisdom in watching those who’ve done
What you hope someday to become.
But learn to build, not just repeat.
Use their fire to light your heat.
Take the tools, not the face.
Find your tempo. Find your pace.
Originality isn’t loud by default.
It isn’t immune to error or fault.
It’s simply the act of being sincere,
Of saying, “This is what lives in here.”
And yes, you will evolve and shift.
Your tastes will change. Your dreams will drift.
Being yourself is not staying still.
It’s choosing your path with active will.
You are allowed to grow and bend.
To break a habit. To make amends.
To shed old skins that no longer fit
Without becoming a counterfeit.
Don’t be a copycat in disguise,
Trading your truth for borrowed eyes.
Don’t paint your soul in borrowed shade
Just to be liked or unafraid.
There is a room that only you
Can fill with what you think and do.
A note that only you can sing.
A shape that only you can bring.
And if you mute it, dim it down,
To blend in with the safer town,
The world will never know the sound
Of what was almost here, but drowned.
So stand a little strange and tall.
Let some people not understand at all.
Let questions circle. Let whispers start.
Keep building from your stubborn heart.
Because the bravest thing you’ll ever do
Is let the world encounter you.
Not polished copy, not careful clone,
But raw and certain and fully grown.
Don’t be a copycat. Don’t erase
The map of wonder in your face.
Don’t trade your pulse for perfect art.
Be whole. Be flawed. Be set apart.
The world is wide. The world is loud.
It doesn’t need another crowd
Of mirrored smiles and borrowed shine.
It needs your messy, honest line.
So step outside the traced outline.
Cross the border. Break the spine
Of fear that says you must conform.
Become your weather. Be your storm.
And if they ask why you won’t copy,
Why you refuse to move so sloppy
In someone else’s practiced track,
Just smile and say, “I won’t turn back.”
Because you’ve tasted what it means
To live beyond the borrowed scenes.
To build a self that fits just right.
To claim your dark. To claim your light.
Don’t be a copycat. Be rare.
Be thoughtful. Fierce. Unfair.
To limits set by borrowed rules.
To cages built in borrowed schools.
Be curious. Be unafraid
To make a mess you never made
Before. To try. To risk a fall.
To lose your balance. Give your all.
In the end, when curtains close
And life has stripped away the pose,
You won’t regret the risks you took
To write your own unwritten book.
But you might regret the silent years
Spent chasing someone else’s cheers.
The times you shrank, the dreams you sat on,
Just to play a safer pattern.
So don’t be a copycat, pale and neat.
Be the thunder under your feet.
Be the question that won’t comply.
Be the spark that splits the sky.
Be the version that only you
Could ever shape or follow through.
And let the copies chase their part.
You build a life that starts from heart.
