I would face every situation like a cowboy

Attending a shootout at high noon.

Rehearsed in the third person, I considered

Myself studious in the craft of Chameleon.


I was told to

Face it with my Game Face on

But, as I reached down

To draw, the Game Face was gone.

It hadn’t disappeared

It was just mixed up with the others

So now, time for the quick draw,

It’s dead like the others.

Let Me Explain

Because this is no stand-up comedy.

I’m glad to have walked away from

The idea of being a wannabe.

The idea was presented to me

Of a Chameleon.

A constant changing of the faces so you

Never knew what I was really on.

I had a face for work

And, on Sundays, I would blow off the

Dust and put on my face for church.

A character of bland.

Hitting that point where even I

Considered myself to be tasteless

And every time I saw myself in the mirror,

I was like a vampire. Faceless.

No eyes. No I’s. So there’s no me in the mirror,

I never see myself.

Like a chameleon, always the colour

Of someone else

When the dream was to shine like a

Star on Orion’s Belt,

There I was. Some cheap

Paint to buy from Home Depot’s shelf.

I blocked the light inside so no one knew

That I was shady

And I put in continuous practice hours

For grime daily, in an empty hope that grime

Might pay me.

Instead, he turned and threw at me his

Thirty pieces of silver.

Quite possibly a piece for every personality

I was able to tap into.

A situational shape-shifter, shifting opinions

And character in attempts at acceptance

That became as hollow as me.

I said A situational shape-shifter, shifting opinions

And character in attempts at acceptance.

The Chameleon.

They reside among us as the proverbial

Wolves, draped in sheep’s wool, to cover the hollow

Characters they possess so they can fit in with

Their surroundings just like a chameleon.

Personality, borrowed.

Just not real, lacking content and direction.

Happy to watch life flutter by

While posing as Emperors,

Of the social butterfly.

I’m glad to have left that cocoon.

I never even realized until that moment.

A moment of Purple.

Purple is real, Purple is rare.

Royal, defined, soft and fair.

Moments of Purple are moments that

Have to be experienced to be understood.

Epiphanies. As though one has been gently

Led to gaze in the mirror where wonders would

Come alive in a reflection of perfection,

(Meaning a perfect reflection!)

Where there is a comfort within the humility

Of a fully exposed self-perception.

Purple. The moment of realization

And a standard I intend to make my own.

Singular in colour.

No longer a chameleon.


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