Killing the Chameleon

It wasn't a conscious decision.

But a coping mechanism.


Adapt. Fast. New place, new timer...

...there were no more beginnings.

Only beginnings to new endings.

"Goodbyes" like clockwork.

Heart like lock-work.

Leave or be left, she began to believe.

Never get close enough, they'll eventually leave.

Growing too weary of every loss she had to grieve.

Five years became ten.

Ten became twenty.

The losses, aplenty.

And then, a solution?

Resign to the transience.

Just blend in to fit in.

A drifter shapeshifter.

Don't want to spend the next two years completely alone?

Better learn and adapt to what's already known.

Don't bother belonging.

Despite her greatest longing.

Identity built on shifting sand.

Caravanning through life like a conscripted gypsy.

Not choosing the constant losing...

So I learned the methods to the nomadness. 

Just to feel a semblance of sanity.

In a constant cycle of instability.

Belonging meant blending, not being.

My native tongue is American English.

But I've been speaking fluent chameleon since I was five. 

It was never conniving. 

Just a girl surviving...

...just a girl striving:

For love. Belonging. Home.

But one thing the chameleon didn't count on:

Someone wanting to know her...

...and when she fumbled to answer...

...that's when she discovered each cancer:




Lost vision.

She didn't count on someone seeing her...

...not the her who had become so good at fitting molds.

The her who was designed at birth to break them.

It was never conniving.

Just a girl surviving...

...just a girl striving:

For love. Belonging. Home.

But no one could do it for her...

...the cell was locked from within.

Which is why she alone, must fight for the win:

To kill the chameleon, and bury every bone.


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