stoplight

I am the unsure space between a stop light and a car

meanwhile the hustle of rushed traffic after work lets out,

and my body is the red light.

stopped.

stationary.

I’m this introverted stillness,

when the intersection has no movement,

that is me.

stuck.

bubble gum in my hair.

I’m just there, waiting,

waiting.

cars are everywhere,

travelling to their destination.

but

I wait.

silence.

sh

si-len-ce

I’m stopped, halted,

withdrawn by the stop light,

I can’t keep up with the regular flow of traffic,

Obsessed with myself,

           myself

and I’m not moving.

Turns out the red light is broken,

     broken.

shattered? stalled? broken.

broken.

They’re not sure what’s wrong with it.

what caused it?

they don’t know.

nothing.

it’s stuck like that.

stuck on red.

red as in blood.

drip.

“it’s nothing.”

In some ways,

it’s comfortable to not have to move,

just do nothing.

nothing is nice.

very nice.

but despite contrary belief,

silence is loud.

silence isn’t nothing

nothing isn’t nothing

The officer tells me I need to take a detour.

      I need to

a detour to the next intersection,

a longer route-but the safest route, he says.

     he says

     he says.

silence.

He doesn’t want me to sit here forever,

dwelling in the luminescence of the red light.

Using the detour,

I’m less likely to get hit by a car.

Trying to cross the busy intersection is dangerous.

absolutely dangerous

The detour will bring me to the same destination, he says,

       he says.

That’s the problem.

The other cars want, desire, need to travel to their homes.

I don’t want to move.

I stay still.

          still

still.

He’s irritated when I don’t move along,

I don’t like to listen to authority.

fuck authority.

FUCK authority.

I want to drive back.

Back to simplicity.

where I was the sure space between a green light and a car,

I was sure.

I’d drive myself away from the battle i fought,

away

real far away.

Though it would still be there.

object permanence.

per-man-ence,

I’d tell myself things I wish I knew a long time ago,

things.

I wish I knew.

I’d tell myself coping skills are just detours,

and the detours don’t really help.

eventually, the destination is all the same.

     the destination

  the absolute same.

I’d just end up at another intersection,

with a stop light,

abruptly stopped.

short stopped.

real fast.

quick.

like a person who’s been shot,

killed.

killed.

blood draining everywhere,

like the stop  light at the intersection.

because in this stoplight that’s all I am.

emotionally drained.

quickly silent.

absolutely nothing.

now I’m not given much of an option,

the cop is watching me,

making sure I don’t plow through the intersection

and experience death by a car.

      experience death.

quick. absolute.

Eventually, the painful turns and

twists and winds in the road from the detour

would become relevant to me,

when they’re engraved on my body

when I’m  stopped at the red light.

   stopped at the red light.

   stopped at the red light.

The officer says I need to back up,

I’m stopped on a crosswalk.

I’m stopping people, innocent people,

from moving forwards.

i hate causing a problem

i hate causing a problem

i hate causing a problem

I’m absolutely lost in the stillness of my being,

drained of all direction and destination.

time is running out

I can’t sit here any more

waiting

wait

waiting

Losing the last bit of gas,

i drive through the intersection

even though it’s a red light

i get out of the pedestrians way

and my own.

ha,

there i go again.

causing a problem.

and suddenly, it’s not so silent.

emotions drained, explode.

and it’s not so absolutely nothing.

but it’s absolutely dead.