scales

She looked my way from across the bar. I remember it so vividly. I was wearing orange - a shiny, vibrant, almost reptilian piece - daring. Draping her were fabrics made up of the deepest blues; fall too close and you may just drown.

Just one glimpse in her eyes and time came to a stop. At once, I questioned my place in the world. Plunged into a manic cycle of validating and invalidating and validating my existence over and over again. None but mere moments had passed as these thoughts charged through my head.

Regaining my bearings, I peered down to the grass, perched upon what felt at the time like the hand of God, taking in the omniscient view from these great new heights. But when refocusing my gaze on the vistas ahead, reality came tapping on my door again. New questions arose, a familiar, existential, and disorienting trend. 

Whose palm is here that I rest upon? Are these painted fingernails those belonging to God? Who are you, and who am I? Weren’t we just in a bar? You’re not God, and my God, I am a lizard, with spikes on my head symbolizing a crown. Ruler of none but myself and my scales, and this body they cover all the way down to my tail.

Who am I but another bearded dragon? Well, let me tell you who the fuck I am. I am conscious, a fighter. I am a beautiful reptile and strong as hell.