I never had that signature rebel phase as a teenager,
so I’m surprised when it bubbles up in my thirties: 
dark purple lipstick here; a bottle of half-drunk moscato
in my closet since Christmas; vivid orchid hair paint
in my Amazon cart for a few days just to mull it over.

If you’d asked me at seventeen what I’d be like 
at thirty, all I’d have been able to conjure up
was the pitch-black vortex of unforgiving space.
Never could imagine myself past my twenties,
but if I had, I’d have told future-me to finish the wine.