The Chameleon is as beautiful as its surroundings
So the surroundings affect the chameleon's beauty.
Yet, if there is no beauty around,
it'll be the chameleon who interferes with
the surrounding, being now the
"beautiful chameleon in a beautiful place"
in an attempt to fit a square
into a circle
she shed her skin
rearranged her face
into something you'd look at
she chose her words carefully
saying things you want to hear
she colored her hair white
but her soul remained
as black as the night
I am your chameleon;
I turn blue when you are sad
I turn green when you are jealous
And red when you are mad.
I turn yellow when you are afraid
And when you’re feeling down
I’m on the ground beside you,
In a somber shade of brown.
When the sun is hidden by the clouds
And nothing goes your way,
You can find me in your shadow,
I’m the one that’s turning gray.
When others seek to see me
They squint and look right through
Because, darling, I’m transparent
To anyone but you.
He called me a chameleon once.
The words fell like sweet thick honey that matched his sandy blonde hair.
It fell just over his eyes. I had to duck and search to meet his gaze.
He told me that I acted like a mother to one, and a daughter to another.
He told me that he had yet to figure out my true colours.
I only smiled.
He studied me carefully everyday afterwards.
Peering, leering, examining every last breath that left my lips.
I chuckled, and allowed it, knowing he could spend his life dedicated to studying me yet never find the answer he was looking for.
A chameleon can only blend in with what surrounds them,
fire, blue skies, dark blizzards, animated companions.
A chameleon can never see the colour of its own skin, because it's too busy trying to match everyone else.
Changing her disguise,
lover in liquid lapis,
tart wearing turquoise,
blending serene, frozen,
in green emeralds,
feeding on innocence,
sacrificed phrases melting,
virgin hot tears, crimson,
return to the silence,
and decriminalise sentiment.
© Pagan Paul (2016)
When in nature,
chameleons will alter their original form,
in order to survive.
If you placed her next to those miraculous creatures,
she would put their shape shifting to shame.
For as long as she could remember,
she camouflaged her colors so she could survive.
She bended and molded to be
whatever people wanted her to be.
The problem with this is,
after the threat has gone,
chameleons will once again return to their truest form.
But for her it's always survival of the fittest.
And if you asked her,
She wouldn't know which colors,
truly belonged to her,