I change the pain to fit the face
of the one fielding the telling to,
shifting the colors to their mouth tightenings,
a raised eyebrow deepens the green and mutes the red,
any sardonic tskings make the pattern sink shamefaced into drab.
I shape the outrage to the panel of judges,
a surely not look trims the wick of my rage and waxcoats it with self deprecation,
settling for an uneasily fit one of the group mask until a
piece of patronizing hits me,
“not grown up enough”
“can’t take a joke”
and there my colors go again…
This poor mad chameleon
in a strangers image.