Camouflage.

It is not the changing colours or the beady black eyes; it is not the shelter of leaves that makes me a chameleon.
Bugs do not tempt my tongue, a stench will definitely make me nauseous. I do not even have a tail to make me a chameleon
So I fall back into the background, choosing to hide from sight and sound, completely aware that I’ve made myself invisible like a chameleon.

Like a chameleon.

I don’t need a cloak
Or some key to some door,
I see it’s a bit obvious
That I’m not what you’re looking for.

Change wont come in an instant
And I can’t walk on walls.
My tail won’t grow back
If you decide to break it off.

I can’t stay on a branch
For fifteen of your days,
I can’t stain myself blue
To fit your blue ways.

But I blend in really well
When you’re under my tree
My silence reinforces how
You don’t seem to see me.