Jul 2014
Another day has come, another life granted to me, but ohh what have I done with my previous life and what have I dragged in my new life?
Today I met skeletons from my old life. They stared straight into my eyes, I tried to hold the stare but I couldn’t. They were too real and their presence was overwhelming. I could feel it, I could see it but they could see through me, straight into my inner colors, gawking at my dark secrets and my veiled inner reptiles.
"***, What have I done? Where is my poker face?"
Clearly my chameleons are losing their camouflage. They are raging with fear, heedful of any attacks that may be thrown their way. It’s tiring, so I understand why they have grown impatient and want to flash their hidden colors. I can hear them screaming in my head - they are restless, they keep wrestling my skin, itching like lice, turning red at every minor vibration extended their way.
I'm trying hard to keep my composure, keep my eyelids from moving , from shaking, from swimming in a sea of tears cause I need to stay strong, to be an adult, to grow a tail and horns, to show my canines so I could feel invincible, seem firm and unshaken so no one could wake my sleeping secrets, my dark mambas. But in my eyes, yes in the windows of our souls, if you look closely you will see them. You will see them crawling under my skin, asking to be let out so they could shake hands with their cousins, brothers and sisters in the reflections in the mirrors, the horizons of their independence...
“The hard way is not working, let’s mess with her head”.
So they tell tales, write songs, recite poems that I want to rhyme with but NO, I won’t let them over come my calmness cause I have scales on the outsides, cause I am a knight in cold blood serenity armor, cause even if hell boils over, God-willing the outside will never see the smoke of flames from my inner chambers, from the caves and dark corners filled with hot magma.
No, red is not a color. It will not overcome patience, the color I have painted serenity, the façade I put on every day but blood runs in my veins, and blood is the color of my raging chameleons.
Today I met skeletons from my old life. They stared straight into my eyes, I tried to hold the stare but I couldn’t. They were too real and their presence was overwhelming. I could feel it, I could see it but they could see through me, straight into my inner colors, gawking at my dark secrets and my veiled inner reptiles.
"***, What have I done? Where is my poker face?"
Clearly my chameleons are losing their camouflage. They are raging with fear, heedful of any attacks that may be thrown their way. It’s tiring, so I understand why they have grown impatient and want to flash their hidden colors. I can hear them screaming in my head - they are restless, they keep wrestling my skin, itching like lice, turning red at every minor vibration extended their way.
I'm trying hard to keep my composure, keep my eyelids from moving , from shaking, from swimming in a sea of tears cause I need to stay strong, to be an adult, to grow a tail and horns, to show my canines so I could feel invincible, seem firm and unshaken so no one could wake my sleeping secrets, my dark mambas. But in my eyes, yes in the windows of our souls, if you look closely you will see them. You will see them crawling under my skin, asking to be let out so they could shake hands with their cousins, brothers and sisters in the reflections in the mirrors, the horizons of their independence...
“The hard way is not working, let’s mess with her head”.
So they tell tales, write songs, recite poems that I want to rhyme with but NO, I won’t let them over come my calmness cause I have scales on the outsides, cause I am a knight in cold blood serenity armor, cause even if hell boils over, God-willing the outside will never see the smoke of flames from my inner chambers, from the caves and dark corners filled with hot magma.
No, red is not a color. It will not overcome patience, the color I have painted serenity, the façade I put on every day but blood runs in my veins, and blood is the color of my raging chameleons.
This poem depicts those anger episodes that always leave us rueful...
