the introverted attention Angel-Clare Linton, March 15, 2024February 28, 2024 I I sit at the back of the class. The instructor waitsfor someone to answer her question—her eyes surveying the room. My legs shake,hoping I don’t become her next victim.What’s wrong with you? It’s not like it’s a suicide mission. II I sit in the middle of my bed,watching YouTube with the light turned off.The clock continues to do its regular rotations.I bite the inside of my lip.Maybe I’m not working hard enough. Whyam I not getting enough attention in my career? The skies consume me. My body’s engulfedin this emptiness that contains the weightsof two adult male heads. It pulls me downlike an anchor amid the dark blue starry night. III People are in two distinct groups. They chatterabout their personal lives with smilesthat stretch to their eyes.My earphones consumed me in rap musicwhile their eyes bounced from person to personand skipped me like I was invisible. “I can make space for you if you want.” IV At the back of the room, my music continuesto bleed out of my earphones while the printed wordsof the poetry collection bounce in my mindlike alphabet soup. She probably just feels bad for me. “Nah.It’s all good. Thanks, though.” “Okay.” The air between us wigglesbetween the empty spaces we provide. I was close to doing a successfulIrish goodbye, butthey said goodbye, smilinglike they genuinely wanted me to be there, which is surprising, isn’t it? Related Poetry