I don’t recognise real love,
And my father can’t see purple.
I say yes to pain and sickness,
And him? Well he just crumbles.
I am born of years of hurt,
And he is colourblind.
I am scribbled on a page but
Him? He is straight lines.
Now I’m not sure I’d accept it,
And he wouldn’t know it either way.
So I suppose the issue is that
Love is purple you could say.