The Lion Hearted Coward

I sit there and watch the faces go by.

Some smile, some frown, but not one is filled with death.

Boys and their smirked smiles towards the girls with short skirts.

Watching the girls who yearn for a certain boy, and watch as they die inside when they look the other way.

Oh and those pretty, pretty, girls who smack their hands for the men whose wheels from their boards ride the asphalt.

And my face, warn from the load of work cluttered in my binder. My hands hiding in the hem of my sweater.

My eyes watching a particular face, a face I searched for days. He stood there, blue eyed and lost.

"Go," I told myself. "Get up, introduce yourself." But my body wouldn't listen.

So I sat there, lazy, making excuses why I shouldn't. My self-esteem speaking for me.

Then the golden girl got up from her throne, and swayed her hips toward him. There in front of him, he smiled at her.

"Bitch." I heard a voice say nearby.

I put my head down, "yeah, bitch."

I didn't mean it.

But it felt right.