Chameleon

It feel like
I was a lizard
Having already grown out of my old skin
yet still being encased within it

Once enveloping my form
protecting my person
and growing alongside me

Now a dead veil
hanging on a doornail
A spirit trying to give the slip
but getting stuck on the sharp corners
of my obstinance

I moved through my life
wearing the dried flesh
of a former self
Unable to shake it free
and feeling ever more encumbered by it
with each passing day

Finally
with frustration at a boil
and a sharpened sense of purpose
there was a slice
A single cut
that allowed one arm to shake free
Two
And then
with the rushed desperation
of someone who just walked through a spider web
I frantically wiped
and swiped
swatted and slapped
tore at and ripped away
the rest of the rotten coil

Now
although I stand free of the sleeve
glistening in the sunlight
with that reborn reptilian twinkle
I must still
side-eye those old scales
like the porthole-sporting chameleon I am
to watch for any sudden movement

Because while the shell of a dead identity
may lay still and cold beside you
beyond its reach of influence
and now merely a reminder of what you used to be
if you’re not careful
old habits act as the fictive physics
necessary for its reanimation

And like a pile of webbed scabbing
possessed with the allure of poor decisions
and the spirit of a recent photograph
it just may float towards you when your eyes are turned

It very well may reach for your neck
and try to suffocate you
once again