Hate

I hate him. Truely, utterly, every last mannerism,  with every breath I take.

I hate how you look at me, how you try to touch me when you don’t have the right. How my skin crawls when you do touch me.

I hate the things that come out of your mouth. I hate the things I’ve given up so as to not rock the boat. My music, my religion, my incense, my candles, my soul.

I hate how irresponsible you are, and that your a hypocrite. i hate that somehow I’ve become responsible to get you up for work in the morning. I hate that you call me a bitch and a nag when youre the one who asked me to help you.

I hate how you say we’re going to fix stuff in the house (like the kitchen sink, the oven, the dryer) and it never happens. I hate how you always break promises. I hate that you never cook or wash dishes.

I hate you.

But most of all I hate me for letting all of this happen.