my mother did not create eggs

for them to be crushed.

my colors do not adapt

because i am afraid;

they are the only way i

would make it in this

self destructive society.

i do not mate because i am

incomplete on my own

and i need someone

to fill this gap.

i have not died a beautiful

but regretful death

because i did not let myself

set my own death rate.

-the life of a chameleon