Poetry Series – Mr.RedLight

I was in the passenger’s seat of the car, acknowledging to my boyfriend that I had made a pen pal with an inmate in the past and he asked me if I had fallen in love with the dude. I said no, and for the question he was asking it was absolutely true, I fell no more in love with him than anyone else I get the pleasure of experiencing, but I find a little bit of love for everyone, each moment.

At this point in life, that’s the love I’m afraid to show. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. For a long time I had – gotten the wrong idea, not longed for confusion. Not letting it out won’t change that it’s there, though, so why not put more love out into a world that doesn’t see enough.

Mr.RedLight

Dear Dude at the Red Light,

I didn’t mean to laugh at you, I’m still thinking about how rude that seemed.
Some people will tell me that my insistence on being polite, to you,
as you interrupt my day, my song, my car dance, to try to give me your number
was taught to me, a woman, as a means of playing nice, being inferior.
The truth is, my insistence on being polite was learned, they’re right.
I learned it after feeling how bad disregard for another person, self, feels.
The truth is, I love being hit on and it used to be because I loved the attention, opportunity.
I can’t tell you how exciting it is that now, now I love the chance to say no –
it’s how I know that my politeness is rooted in genuine love for people rather than obligation.
I didn’t mean to laugh at you, but I absolutely love that I did
and I love it even more that I didn’t bother to look up first, I could care less who you are.
“Nah, Bud, I’m good” – and I didn’t mean to spit Bud out that way,
but it’s this thing I have going on, I can’t help it, especially now.
Now the word, name, Bud comes with a giggle
but only ever at the way my love’s face flashes into my mind,
the expression when he thinks it’s directed at him – “Don’t call me Bud”
I would never, but you, Mr.RedLight, Bud,
thank you for drawing attention to the magic of the moment I was in,
but I’m good – happy, Bud.
Thank you for drawing attention to how secure I feel, safe –
I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I didn’t feel the urge to back up plan.
I can’t help but think of the way my phone cut out, glitched, the moment you spoke.
I used to take every sign, every perfectly timed moment, as something for me
and this was, for me, the perfect opportunity to reject what wasn’t.
When I screamed, over my finally fixed music, but thank you,
I meant for the opportunity, for the vulnerability, for the moment,
but nah, I’m good.

Much love, until next time.