Cursive Clay Chameleon

I am a chameleon.

I contain multitudes

and wear my skins,

not when I choose,

but when the background demands.

Can a slippery lack

of fixed, known identity

be an identity in itself?

I am one who moulds around

the strong.

As ugly as what is behind,

as beautiful as what imprints,

I search for where

I can eat my fruit flies

and flicker nature.