Right Side, Wrong Bed

These days I am wondering 
if I am spending my nights on the 
right side of the wrong bed-
shared with someone who doesn’t 
even know that I hope to pen
a poetry book one day
and that I love the look of ink 
on my hands because it means 
I have been working
and revising
and moving toward that goal.
And he cant sleep with the tv on 
and I cant sleep in the silence
because it leaves too much space
for the reality to seep into
the cracks of our foundations
and I lie there, the heat from
his body warming my back and 
I cant help but feel out of place
like there are continents 
between us
and I cant be sure if I have
the patience to wait for a shift
to come for all I know it will
drift us further apart.
And the thoughts get too much to bear
and I slide quietly out of bed
slip into my shoes
and grab my keys
then kiss his forehead before
I leave because the guilt
is overwhleming even though
I know he doesn’t want me
like I want to be wanted.
so I go home and fall into
a bed only big enough to love myself in
turn on the lights
and the tv
and drown out the noise inside.

“Right side, wrong bed”- 12-1-13-jessicagadziala

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