Miss Chameleon
By Jordan Carusa
With my family,
I am a stubborn red.
Stating my opinions out in the open
and letting one build on top of the other,
molding the hill that I’m willing to die on.
Fierce and fiery,
with a large liberal heart,
waiting to unleash my serpent tongue and venomous glare on those who dissent.
A snake, a lion, a bull,
yet also the baby,
sobbing in mother’s arms,
victim to their malicious words.
I make a point of being different,
an outsider, alien, wild card,
even though the only true barrier is the 4 years.
But I’ve ended up just as competitive,
just as judgmental,
just as capable of hurting another.
With my childhood friends,
I am a strong blue.
The coursing current of a river,
leaving a single stone pathway of logic
for them to follow to my conclusion.
Elite and educated,
intellectual and infallible,
I always carry the right answer.
Or at least act like I do.
As collected and organized as the itinerary I build for our trips,
mothers model their daughters after me,
but that’s only because they can relate to me.
I am momma bear,
carrier of snacks, caller of shots, castrator of heartbreakers.
The queen of confidence,
always to be consulted and never to be questioned.
With my college friends,
I am an energetic yellow.
Like a dial turned to 10,
I only function at the highest capacity.
A sudden beam of light,
yet a consistent stream of sunshine.
I never seem to run out of juice,
and I need nothing to upkeep it—
no sleep, no silence, no solitude,
just swimming in my sea of people and positivity.
Open minded, free flowing,
in love with everyone besides myself.
I am a battery,
the life of the party,
supplying not only the energy but also the alcohol.
Outgoing, outlandish, outspoken,
yet not a single quiet hour violation to my name.
An enigma.
With my ex-boyfriend,
I am a chaotic violet.
A twisting, wispy tornado
sent to mix things up and stir the pot.
Words slip from my lips faster than he could track,
crazy ideas flooding the floor of his parent’s car.
Middle school and medieval times, politics and porn, spirits, both alcoholic and supernatural,
my conversation reached all levels all at once.
The second he began to figure me out, I would add a new title:
an inspired writer, a social butterfly, a promiscuous girlfriend, a flickering flame, a genuine heart,
making him the juggler in my circus of a life.
My twister was forever growing
as I pushed my boundaries and tested my limits,
taking impulsive strides towards self-actualization, or destruction, we weren’t sure.
I shared so much of myself,
mind, heart, soul, body.
He thought he saw all of me,
which is why he was so shocked when I took my cyclone elsewhere.
But he just couldn’t see
so much of it was nothing more than a smoke screen,
and he wasn’t ready to see the center of the storm.
“I like a girl that’s a little chaotic.”
I wonder if he still feels that way . . .
I didn’t mean for my chaos to break his heart.
With the girl I never dated,
I am a gentle pink,
the sky in the moments after the sun sinks below the horizon.
The friend to call you when you say you’re not well,
who will write you decorative notes and leave them on your door,
sit on the rug and brush through your hair when you get sick.
The same rug of many high nights and messy kisses,
where my fingers traced through hair, on legs, over collarbones,
memorizing all that I could as long as I could.
The perfect balance,
a cute little mix of tortured and loved,
of feminine and masculine,
of healthy and toxic.
Full of awe, and wonder, and never-ending stories
and giggles that she found so infectious.
But it was her laugh that followed that is my favorite noise in this world.
Was.
Was my favorite noise in this world.
What a shame,
because it was the closest color to what I want in the long-run.
But alas, nothing lasts.
Move on, adapt to new surroundings, and take on a new shade.
My greatest superpower,
yet my biggest character flaw.
Jordan Carusa
12/22/21
Jordan Carusa is a third-year nutritional science major. She loves that writing provides her a creative outlet as well as an escape from her STEM classes.
