Originally posted October 19, 2010
Hate, hater, hating, hatred, hateful, are there any more? Any other way to say it? It doesn’t make it any easier writing it down. Writing it down, the ugly words of hate.
Why do you hate me? You’ve hated me for so long. I can’t remember the first time I saw it in your eyes. You never told me. You spend so much time telling everyone but me.
I spent so much time worrying. Wasted time. It wasn’t up to me. You chose to hate. I’d have even settled for just a little bit of liking me. Your hate so deep, even when you smile. I see it in your eyes and I wonder what you see in mine?
I wish I knew the moment it was easier for you to hate. Do you care of pain? Your hate plunges, a serrated knife. It’s not quick and slick puncturing, but grabs and tears as it works to pierce through my heart. Your verbal venom to everyone we share brought more sorrow than I have ever felt from anyone I have loved and lost to death.
I know a little of this ugly word of hate, but not as much as you. It never was for you. Living in hate was too difficult to bear. I spend too much time wondering. Will you ever stop hating me, long enough to see through the false illusions, of who you think I am?
I couldn’t get the words down fast enough when they came flooding through my heart today. Questioning yet again, why do you hate me? I thought I would feel better as I scrambled for a bit of paper to write my sorrow down, but nothing changes. You hate me. Now it’s down for everyone to know, except for you. You won’t read it. You hate me too much for that.