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Moving is hard on marriages, FYI.

Seeing the world from an antique poster bed

A mattress that murders, shredding my shoulders

Now much like Zoolander

I’m unable to turn left.

With my pure vulnerability

And my painful soliloquy

You found in your heart to give to me

A lecture,

A festering wasp sting

What you have held back from me until now.

And while I was sleeping

You kicked me,

And I whispered “I want out.”

A feather-like buzzing

Tickling your ear,

A weather-light fuzzy fog,

These velour tears.

I want to shout, but the last time I shouted

You said you would leave me,

And now even your children

Leave the house when you’re yelling.

A double standard

A queen-sized mistake

I shouldn’t have bought those curtains

Because now I have to stay

Long enough to enjoy

Staring at the wall

While you hate me all night from the other room.

Long enough to stall

While I talk myself out of leaving the house,

Leaving our life, losing my head,

My bed, and you.

I like to believe I’d be willing

To walk away wearing only

A willowy coverlet or a

A lissome slanket,

Some slippers,

Surely my feet wouldn’t feel it

The flinching piercing of pavement.

The freedom would spare me

from the searing

Instead I am mesmerized

By the barely visible pattern

On the sheer, sinuous panel

Hung with a lack of professional care

And tug on my chlorinated hair

Wishing that I hate you, wishing that I hate you,

Wishing that I hate you.

This quiet, repetitive swishing and debating

Do I love you, do I love you

Enough to decorate a room?

And my shoulders

Are a tension rod

Twisted into place

Bearing the brunt of the happiness

Of this place,

Asleep or awake.

No solace,

A queen-sized mistake.

 

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