Never forget your youth, dear reader.
By which I mean the truth.
Not of simple nostalgic flights of fancy
Your days were not that angelic
Not, simply of this fact, good friend
You'll realise if you think back
That you were made to conform each day
You were dressed in uniform
You were made to parade in dress
That was only ever a façade
There was no reason, though I say
To suggest so was treason
No financial incentive, as in employment
Just a crush on fashion inventive
There are no individuals, in a crowd of the same
Just uniformed residuals.
One day, I happened to go back to my school.
Back to the place that started it all.
To the place I was never cool.
But back as a much wiser fool.
I came in colour. And felt alight.
When wondering through those halls.
No longer fitting in. I drew stares and gossip.
Setting me apart with knowledge
knowledge the pupils had yet to grasp
I smiled.
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