For the millionth time, the hundredth day in a row,
I peer through my chestnut-coloured shield of hair
simply to see the innocent look on your face
most especially days when you wear
that amazing brown sweater of yours.
Every other day when you saunter casually into class,
I squirm to avoid all eye contact
as though your eyes are laser beams bound to blind me
but some days you force it upon me
I secretly want that, and you apparently know it
even though I'm the one to drop it every single time
because of sheer nervousness.
Artistic soul you appear
I feel like there's nothing "cool" about me
I'm demeaned by what I don't know
you scare me, you know
by your whole down-to-earth self
and that thoughtful look you have
when sharpening your pencil
as though pondering the meaning of life—
that's cute but
for the millionth time, I'm intimidated.