The Chameleon

Inside this hair I wear,

Lives a chameleon changing form.

But never will it reflect

The true self underneath.

When suffering, it wears a mask of cheer

Then receives glares as it complains

That no one lets it sigh.

But really, its only themselves

Keeping them from crying,

Not allowing the world to see

Another child dying.

Yet under my hair,

Inside these changing tides

The shadow of memories

Slips farther away.

The child I've known so long

Quietly dying inside.