I saw him and knew
He’d never get me
Stuck there in his own head, just spinning
and spinning
Pretty-boy face and wide green
ice-eyes
Desperate to be taken seriously
Because his Pretty gets in the way
Funny thing is: I could relate
First he’d have to see me
But he’s only into being seen
Consumed with his acting —
A way to be everything he can’t be
In regular life
Which is fine for The Actor
But it ain’t fine for me
Master of his craft, of fantasy
But
he can’t stand reality
A man who can master the Mundane
Make it writhe with life
That’s the man for me
The Actor-Man is talented
Intensely considering all the ways he might show up
In his make believe life
As father or brother
As villain or lover
But it’s the only way he knows how to show up
Goes back home
She leaves him alone
Because he never does open up
It’s the artist in him, she tells herself
Feels lucky to be with The Actor-Man
But I’m not a fan, no
I’m not a fan
I want the man who can reach in the sand
Dig up the soul and the dirt with both hands
So I’ll watch his movies, but I don’t let him fool me
He’s just an illusion
a trick of the hand
