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Bethany Taylor

Some nights I don blonde hair,
the next I will mask as another.
This time I might be so charming,
or a me I have yet to uncover.

In the morning I’ll be someone new:
a better, more sensible me.
She will dress smarter, and speak
far more eloquently.

She’ll not forget the woman
she was the night before,
remembers her light with fondness,
envies her playfulness in amour.

Each time I shut my eyelids,
I am certain I must shapeshift.
I haven't been myself in years;
the closest I've come is this.

But even the woman you see now
may be different come the end of the day.
Do you remember the person you met?
The me you knew has faded away.