Chameleon Madness

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,
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, 
hurts me,
 “not friendly”
     “not grown up enough”
         “can’t take a joke”
and there my colors go again…
This poor mad chameleon
recreating itself
in a strangers image.

About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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2 Responses to Chameleon Madness

  1. Dead Donovan says:

    This poor, sweet chameleon needs to know it doesn’t have to fit into someone else’s definition of how it’s supposed to act or look like. Be adaptable, sure, but don’t lose yourself in the process.
    Lovely and conflicted piece. xo ~PR

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