Chameleon.

I feel such an affinity
for places I've never been
people I've never met,
I guess I'm an idle dreamer.
Or an opportunistic one,
who imagines herself into the most
absurd situations,
who acts a role,
pretends for her audience.
A chameleon who changes her skins,
fading into the woodwork of other's lives,
emotionally invested where she oughtn't,
speculating cause and effect of her life.
Self-analytics are self serving,
and self-pity is demeaning.
All assessments aside,
I hope I am where I need to be
and pray that I exist where I am wanted.
That I'm not the grudgingly accepted third party,
who tags along,
ignorant of her position within the group,
who resent her intrusion but are too polite to say so.
Human interaction is what I crave
but only in it's truest form,
without mendacity nor dramatics,
but simple interaction of two beings
in a world where alternate perspectives are seldom heard,
and those who break free
are seldom seen again.
With all my changing,
how shall I ever know
who I am?