Shapeshifter

At times I hold my voice down.

I let silence linger long enough for my skin

to place doubts on the audience of who I am and where I come from.

I mangle my words into a script and keep my lines short and sweet.

My tongue wallows deep in the aftertaste.

That cocktail of shame and regret scorches

the inner walls of my mouth.

At times my blood runs red one way.

Sometimes it changes tracks,

and I adapt parts of my body

that aren’t meant to bend in certain ways.

My heart sinks deep into my gut,

And my skin follows along.

At times I wear a mask for long enough,

I sometimes lose track of where it ends and where my skin begins.

My skin aches in remorse.

I clutch these traits to my chest

as a bible, a survival guide,

a salvation piece.

Ambiguity is a veil I feel most comfortable with.

Shame just happens to ride along.