When I look at him,
It's like the warmest of summer days
with the harshness of winter.
He's plastic, it seems.
He's like an immortal,
free of all mortal blemish
behind his gleaming screen
or the camera lens.
I wish to be closer, I feel it in my bones,
But the sea parts us
The damned natural barrier.
But when he sees me, he sees the gorgeous picture,
Oh, blasted lucky picture that graces my image.
The photo that looks nothing like me.
The charming picture.
I look thin and beautiful.
The typical man's idea of beauty.
The one that shows me with daring rebellion,
But portrays what I see as vulnerability.
So if he sees me, he won't know me.
I'll just be a passing body in the crowd.
in the sea of Pretties.