The Chameleon

We morph and we morph
until we find the form that pleases most
and paints a fair reflection.

What I seek in love ain’t love alone;
that is, it’s not enough to love, or to be loved in return,
it is the striving to find a version of me that I’m willing to keep around.

For every person I meet, for every situation I’m in,
there seems to be another kind of “I”,
filling the mould and adapting to this changeable environment.

Nor is it a case of trying to work out WHO I am,
because there just is NO ONE WAY in which I exist.
A multitude of personas, ideologies, desires and aspirations,
all of them webbing a complex weave of existence,
amounting to the sum of all my parts
and becoming “I”.

Instead,
it’s about experiencing most every side of this multichotomical state of being,
and deciding which, if any, of these many masks is the most becoming.

I am who I am in the presence of you,
whoever YOU are
or MAY BE when, in the presence of me,
you’ve morphed and warped your skin to suit the colour of this encounter.

So you see, I don’t mourn because love is hard to find,
or muster from the twisted roots of crass desire,
but the BLATANT, STARK and NAKED fact that cries a tortured plea
is that you were the only one that made a better me.

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8 thoughts on “The Chameleon

    1. Thank you so much! :) good googling too :D if you so desire there’s a whole collection on blurb.com , entitled Wandering Rose (or was it Wondering?) by Adam McMillan

  1. Pingback: The Wireless Quill

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