For Caitlin Du Bois and Emily Atkinson and Elphaba Thropp
(I cannot believe I haven't posted this already. I swear I've already posted it... But, oh well.)

Do you have someone else to be right now?

Someone with flawless skin and curled hair.

Do you want to be somewhere right now?

Instead of with me, here, refusing to tell me anything.

Do you have someone else to change into?

Shed your skin and crawl into a tunnel, expecting to transform,

Into another perfect woman, instead of your exotic self.

You want to be a new person.

The twitching of your fingers

The tapping of your heels.

You’re too reckless to stay in your own body,

So you want to be in someone else’s.

You want to try on a new skin,

Like a new jacket, testing to see if it fits.

But you can’t.

Tall legs. Bony elbows. Soft skin.

Why would you want to change that?

Intelligence. Wit. Your sarcasm that you wear like a cloak.

You can’t change it, because it’s sewn inside of you.

And even the toughest seam ripper can’t break the thread.

Your eyes tell me that you are here.

They tell me that you are still listening to me.

They concentrate on me, bright and dark at the same time.

The color only visible when your pupils are open wide, with expression.

I don’t know who you want to be.

And I don’t really care about that other person. Only you.

Your shoulders slump forward in an unlike-you posture.

As if something has struck you deep inside.

You stare at me, through me, into me…

Into my heart and my mind.

As if you want to walk through me, and take part of me with you.

I hope you do. I hope that when you leave, you take as much of me as you need.

And I hope that you leave some of yourself in return.

Shouldn’t you be out there vandalizing the skies?

Ripping and tearing the night air, as I sit and watch.

When you leave the table, knocking the chair over you don’t

Bother to put it back in its place.

Why aren’t I walking through the leaves?

Kicking up memories with colored photographs.

You tell me that I can do what I want.

Yet, you are chained here, fettered to the ground.

Unable to fly.

Now I see you walking out the door.

Don’t you have someone else to be?

I see you ride away.

Have you changed yet?

Have I?

Your eyes are gone.

So is that secret smile, beneath that brimmed hat.

Your face is gone.

That once brought the sun, has left with the moon.

Leaving us with darkness.

Your hair is gone in a tangle of vines and trees.

You’ve changed again.

Now you’ve got something else to be.

Something more important then with me.