I always wanted to appear
As an intense and brooding, mysterious guy
When I was younger.
And so I never smiled
Whenever anyone took a picture of me.
And so in all of those pictures
I have a sullen, almost forlorn look.
An attempt at creating an air of enigma,
An experiment aimed at generating curiosity,
An innate desire to be asked
What my deal was.
But nobody looked,
And nobody asked.
So these days I smile and grin,
Make all sorts of weird and funny faces,
Wear all kinds of outlandish clothes and hats and glasses,
Do everything to amuse my own self:
Everyone else’s too busy looking at their own, anyway.