Motif.

All above I care about
won't give a damn how I turn out
They want to be seen and felt by the upper
want to be held by the duplicate's hand

All so small and hung by a wire
They take up the habit of the abider
who lives in an outershell of skin
afraid to tell they don't blend in

Careless and distracted they sit in rows
the only differences, we'll never know
striped checked crossing equal signs
always perfectly in line

The opposing hand will never rise
no thought, so function, only eyes

shifting and crossing to fit the plane

all in search of common name.