Sculpture.

Sometimes when I dive into someone else's words, they stick to me. After a deep swim, I emerge slick and smiling, prepositional phrases caught in my hair, adjectives filling my eyes and mouth, and tiny nuances of punctuation coating my skin. The words mold themselves to my form, and fragments swell, dripping slowly from me as I dry.
Any words can take my shape; the pool does not discriminate. I can see my outline in every analogy, in every crafted image--taking handfuls, I can sculpt language, padding my deep places and softening my sharp edges until the finished product looks something like me.
Clearing the vocabulary from beneath my fingernails, I know it isn't real--anyone and everyone can be made, and the fact that I'm among the possibilities is a statistic, not an epiphany.