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Poetry

The Inbetween

I stare from afar

wondering if you can feel my eyes

penetrate your skin.

I sit for a moment

waiting for you to scratch my itch.

You flinch,

swipe the back of your neck

and turn around.

And in that moment it is just you and me amongst a crowd.

Comment
by Alex Arlo

Someone told me once I have sour patch humor, and after searching high and low for a name that fits my persona, it clicked. I have a sour patch tongue. I have a sweet spot for bitterness. My music, my writing, my feelings are all abundantly bittersweet. If I am my art, then I am a twinge of a trumpet, a strum of a guitar string reminiscent of yearning love.

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