once, i wrote a poem
about myself
and i called it
“chameleon”
that sounds
about right-

change color.
blend in.
closed doors,
iron fists.
show nothing.

my armor is
a wall of
different hats
i can put on.
costumes, attached
to personalities.

and you-
your laughter,
your bright eyes
tried to strip away
the layers
like an onion
tried to figure out
what color I would be
if i felt safe.

i couldn’t do it
i tore away,
screamed, shouted
punched, kicked,
scratched.

sometimes our insides
are too raw to share.

so the outside
changes colors instead
like a chameleon.