The Yellow Line

Behind the yellow line

I’m like everyone else

Waiting for my life to begin

Sometimes tapping my foot sometimes

Leaning in to my hip

I’m sure my breath and the wall

Across the tracks can

Have a full on conversation

Without me knowing

About where I’m truly going.

The train arrives.

And I see myself

Arriving too in the window

In every glass window

A version of myself is born...

I always seem to look into peoples eyes at the wrong time

And they always seem so caught off guard

So exposed,

Like I’ve discovered a long-held secret or something

But it is they

Who have now discovered

How I see the world.

And there’s no need for contact really

To feel close

To feel uncomfortable

cornered

gasping

naked.

For some reason dressing in layers feels so safe in this space

I wonder how safe onions feel at their core?

Germs. Are. Everywhere.

And I can’t unsee that

They’re floating around

in the charged liquid that binds us all

They’re like the little specs of spices in soups that you can’t pick out but you don’t really want to swallow

The broth feels dangerous in here...

And what do you do about danger? Clenching never works but for some reason usually happens

I know I’m dead when notice I’ve been holding my breath.

My protection crystals are busy working while I’m away - at home!

So I’m free to be unsafe.

Trade offs...

Crazy how music enters and exits without much fuss

I can only hope to be as good at

Seamless Transitionsssss ssss s sszzzzzz

Zero to 100 is usually my style.

I quite like it.

Nobody knows my style, especially not on trains.

Invisibility is my power.

To try

Not at all

Is the goal

Always.

It works.

Always.

I’ve been nobody from day one and I am nobody still

Also, I’m still safe.

I haven’t died yet, have I?

And I don’t know why

In this constant fight

Between fight or flight

I feel so safe in my thoughts

(Dreamspace doesn’t have germs, usually)

It’s like nothing even happened

And time just jumped over a small inoffensive puddle

I muddle and waddle my way out

The bell always dings

In my head before it rings in real life

And for a second I break free

Into something

Crossing a yellow line

This poem is part of a series of 25 daily word experiments I am committing to for the month of October. The motto: “Sometimes garbage, sometimes sweet, not fun everyday, but everyday anyway!” Intrigued to experience what can be created (and discovered) in the process of developing a consistent writing practice, I will be writing a poem a day until my Vocal+ subscription ends at the end of the month. Let’s gooooo!