I am afraid
of cars.
I do not like them.
They scare me.
They give me the creeps,
which is unfortunate ’cause they’re everywhere.
Everyone else seems perfectly comfortable
hurling themselves around in a giant steel monstrosity,
as if the most obvious thing in the world.
It’s not obvious. Not to me.
It doesn’t seem obvious to me at all.
I don’t like it. I don’t want to do it.
Behind the wheel I feel destructive and dangerous.
I don’t like to feel destructive and dangerous.
I like to feel constructive and generous.
But still,
I’m afraid of cars.
What kind of a man does that make me?
Vroom Vroom.
Get out of the way.
Here comes my fucking stereotype.
