Too many stem cells,
People metamorphosizing
Into versions of themselves:
passport photos
and feigned smiles—
Do they smash mirrors
when they are alone?
Does the pitch of their voice
Tell them that something
is wrong?
Do they see the seasons
change in their face
with every interaction,
The snow melting
into burnt sienna leaves?
We don’t need more
Chameleons in this world,
If only we could be satisfied
with our single souls