My Caricature

I am not me, I am her.

Painted, airbrushed, distorted.

Purple parkas and panther spots.

Am I a joke or a representation?

Years fly by, more walls to stare at,

posters join my company.

Her presence is constant,

we are always connected

by our passion for purple

 and the things we see.

As I watch, she grows,

she weeps and rejoices,

she learns.

Each day a ritual,

one glance is cherished.

Waiting for her gaze to meet mine,

I smile my toothy grin,

with dreams of reciprocation.

As the painting of Dorian Gray, I change too.

Each day growing younger, more childish,

Her -- girlish no more.

Mature, lovely, budding and beautiful.

I wish I was her.