“What did you do?”

“What did you do?”

I gave you kisses.

I gave you hugs.

I played with your hair.

I paid for dinner.

I invited you over.

I went where I’d later tell you I didn’t want to go.

What did you ever do?

 

I paid seven hundred dollars up front when you went and crashed my mom’s car.

I went and took the blame for your disrespectful mistakes so far.

I went and lied to protect you even if we still got caught.

I paid an extra two hundred dollars when you cared naught.

I paid thirty-six dollars each weekend to see you, arriving on the train at one.

I paid with money when both of us had none.

I was the one who left my home.

I was the one that did the traveling alone.

 

I gave you back rubs.

I gave you a protein shake.

I never gave you gas money,

But I made up for it with “love”.

 

I gave up my comfort.

I lived weekends out of a suitcase.

I put up with traveling migraines and backaches.

And all in a strange place.

 

I gave you dinner (three weeks old).

I gave you kisses and affection.

Seriously, “What did you ever do?”

 

I put up with other girls coming around.

I put off my trust issues like you’d asked with a frown.

You’d never travel the distance, never offer an apology.

And I put up with your drunk-ass mother in her name calling of me.

I put up with tattooed and gauged double standards from you.

I put up with fights beginning anew.

I put up with it when you yelled you didn’t want to come out.

Acting as though I’d forced you somehow.

 

And I put up with you blaming me.

For fights.

For squabbles.

For your inability to time manage work and school and practice.

A call isn’t a lot to ask for. And I put up with complaints about that too.

I put up with sleepless nights.

I put up with two and three am phone calls.

I put up with you not wanting to fix it so you’d stall.

I had to put up with your demand to approve my wishes of activities to do.

I had to put up with your other suitors coming around you.

 

You weren’t the only one getting no sleep.

You weren’t the only one who had a bank account to watch closely.

You weren’t the one watching a reenactment of the same wreckage.

You weren’t the one dreading the next morning’s message.

 

So you never knew the paradox that occurred when I was relieved to not get an angry message that morning,

But only because I hadn’t gotten a text at all that day.
As if you’d somehow forgotten.

 

I had put up with another relationship I’d tried to avoid a second time.

I put up with pressures desired in only your mind.

I put up with your nasty habits,

I put up with your wanting a break.

“You’re either with me or your not,”

And I put up with it when you disapproved of that thought.

I put up with it when you wanted me back.

“I tried to get over you”

As if that was a plea?

How many chicks have you fucked to try and get over me?

 

And you’ll retaliate.

She lied. She hated. And now she’s writing this.

But Social Media has even more proof of your disrespect for me.

 

I emptied my bank account.

I emptied a previously broken heart.

I emptied salted tears.

I emptied three valuable months but it felt like years.

And you’re upset because I wasn’t affectionate in the midst of our fights?

When instead I emptied every bit of waking strength I had into a relationship that would end with a vice.

I emptied three months of work,

I emptied three months of travel.

I emptied one month of fighting.

And I poured out a liquefying me,

Exhausted from your sick reality.

 

So I know exactly what I did for you, and I’ll ask:

“What the hell did you do?”

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