Chameleon

I am a chameleon. I have many skins.
In a boxing ring, I am a fighter.
In a bed, I am a lover.
I have no boundaries.
My roots are Indian.
My heart, a New Yorker.
With a book, I am an intellect.
With a beer, I am one of the guys.
I have no form.
I’m an artist with a paintbrush.
I am a cook with a pot.
I cannot be confined.
I’m a boy in baggy shorts and a baseball cap.
In stiletto heels and miniskirt, I am a woman.
I am the rhythm of my breath.
I am feisty and free and ever grateful.
I am rigid and stiff and contemplative.
I am an old soul
In love with urban dwelling.
I carry the spirit of a child.
I am a hip-hop lover, rock and roll groupie, a break dancing beat.
Club girl, grunge girl, girly girl.
I’m a hippie with a heartbeat.
Worldly and small town.
I stand on my head.
I sleep under covers.
I am flexible. I adapt.
Giver and receiver, healer and dreamer.
Intense and aggressive.
Sensitive and sweet.
I am a teacher and a student.
I am divine mystery.
Darkness and light.
Body and spirit.
Heaven and hell.
Sexual, creative, sacred.
Mine is a dancing path.
My body is my Bible.
My master is rhythm.
No dogma, no traditions, no rules.
I am ever-changing.
Free to express.
I live by the wilderness of my heart.