Purple.

A poem from my 13 year-old self, to the Man I am today:

When you are an adult, you shall wear purple
with a rainbow heart that matches completely, and suits you grandly.
And you shall spend your tension on Chardonnay and kid gloves
and Yankee Candles, and say you've no money for butter substitutes.
You shall sit down on the futon when you are tired
and gobble up samples in shops and press conservative buttons
and run your stick along public railings
and make up for the prison of your youth.
You shall wear Burberry in the rain
and pick flowers from your Partner's garden
and learn to shout.

You can wear fabulous shirts and grow whole
and eat three slices of bacon at a go
or only brioche and Pop Tarts for a week
and hoard ideas and promises and pistachios and things in bargain.

But now you must have causes that keep you hot
and pay your debts and say fuck in the street often
and set a better example for Their children.
You must have friends to theatre and read the Kindle.
But maybe you ought to perfect a little now?

So people who know you are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly you are golden, and start to share Purple.