What Did I Do

What Did I Do

For all eternity, you said,

but eternity slipped out the back door

while I stood in white,

believing.

We died the day we said I do

you, into silence

me, into shame.

Was I too loud

too soft

too much like the woman

you asked for?

I packed away dreams

in wedding china

you never touched,

walked on eggshells

until they cracked

and cut me open.

You swore love

but gave me rules.

You kissed my mouth

and stitched it shut.

I missed the man

you were before

you owned me.

Was it the way I laughed

at the wrong time?

The way I cried

and made it real?

You looked through me

like I was glass

and you were already

on the other side.

Don’t tell me love is work.

Don’t say forever

if you mean until I’m quiet.

I’m still here

but the wedding bed

is a grave.

And I lie in it

angry, sad

lost, alone

asking—

what did I do?