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Home / Issue 36 / i am not a hospital bed for broken-hearted men to sulk in

i am not a hospital bed for broken-hearted men to sulk in

By Gume Laurel

his up and down // stock market charts

our back and forth // red to blue and back again elections

i pledge this

an allegiance to myself

to not bend my spine in zigzag shape

to stay firm

to not break

when he knocks at my door with a text message saying

that he is outside, i will not let him in

i will not even allow his text to come through because i will not have

unblocked him for the fifth time in a week

when he slides himself like molasses to the edge of my bed and walks away,

i will not count his drunken steps

nine— to the sink in my bathroom where he will rinse me clean from him

seven— to my front door where he will wait outside two nights from now

his strides exiting, after tiptoes entering

i will not be his manmade pillow fort anymore

i will not be his tonic remedy slicking down his throat the way rain drops rush

down a gutter drain and celebrate a momentary sense of closeness, only to

be left shattered on the ground in the end

i will not shower him in spotlights

i will shut off the lights when i suspect he’s outside, and

go unaware of his blocked text messages that go to whatever version of

purgatory it is that blocked text messages go to remain unread

i will not be his hospital bed

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