Not Me

Your brush strokes make me smile
you have weaved fluorescent purple streaks
about my hair.
Standing tall on my head, a hat
crafted from wire, all shiny bright and prickly.
Porcupine springs to mind
what I wonder, was on yours
when you painted it?

At the sitting
you offered me a plastic cup of lemonade
the fizz went up my nose,
I sneezed, you laughed.
What was the meaning of all that.

It doesn’t look like me
you have captured me young
salad days – party nights
excessively over confident
in my own pig headed way.

The painting was a birthday present
just me, my smile, and that hat.
The rest of me, seemingly lacking
of suitable attire.
I stand back admiring its playfulness,
such a damn shame that it resembles
someone else.

Someone:
Who would never be me…