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What I Hate About You
I have an immense capacity for
Hate, something I think you already know.
There are days when I want to batter your face,
And I wonder how far I can go.
And I wonder if I’m in the right
Or whether I’m even human
As I sit here writing this and stare
At my face in the mirror.
Just how much do I deserve
To live and love and feel?
Am I damned, in Calvinist manner,
To spend eternity in fire?
And yet I still hate you so fucking much
I want to smash that frigid, passive-aggressive
Smile, even as I fear the consequences,
I want to break that smile.
I hate that smile, and I think I hate you
(And does that make me a misogynist?
And I am terrified of that. And just how much
Is it all your fault? You fucked me up, you get the gist?)
I also loath your authority over me,
And the crosses you seem to love to bear,
Like cooking, such an arduous task,
Or walking the dog,
Or being a mother,
Or shopping,
Or drying your fucking hair.
Or, God forbid, living.
I swear to God, when I am free,
It’ll be the last you see of me
For a very long time.
But until then,
I’d better take two,
Lest I kill you before the day is through.
And I am crying now.
