I Hate This Piece

These are the mornings that annoy me,
And these are the faults that I cannot help but see,
This is what hinders me,
And this is what makes me want to scream.
I see the mistakes I have made and the choices that I failed,
I over analyze my actions and replay them in my head,
And I only see disappointment in my reflection in the mirror.
I look further for an understanding and some forgiveness,
But all I find is a further desire to give up.
Because I am not perfect,
And I cannot be,
And this is something that frustrates me.
I want to move through life without a mistake,
And I want to know a life without regret,
I wish that I had the ability and drive to execute,
A life that I am proud to be a part of.
But every day I wake I am disappointed in myself,
And for every mistake I make I chastise myself.
It is reflexive and ingrained,
And it is something I cannot seem to untrain.
I have taught self hate for so many years,
That what I love about myself is no longer clear.
I cannot seem to move past the self criticism,
And I cannot seem to see past my human faults.
There is something inside of me that won’t let go,
Of the judgement that I place on my every action,
And the analysis I conduct with every thought,
Because I almost know myself too well —
I know what my motivation is,
And I know why I am making mistakes,
I know that I am only human,
But I know that I have inhumane standards.
Yet there is something inside of my that will not accept this,
It is that something that makes me hate,
And it is that something makes me restless,
And something that makes writing this impossible,
Something that will not allow me to speak the truth,
And something that will not let me admit that I am avoiding the truth,
Because it might be too much for me to bear,
And I doubt that I am strong enough to overcome,
And if I speak the truth then something in the end must be done.

When I Wish Upon A Flaw

I wish that I could hate others the way I hate myself.
I wish that I could see nothing but their faults and where they have failed.
I wish that I could be blinded by their flaws and only see faces that I resent.
I wish that I could be content with their struggle and criticize them where they fall short.
I wish that I never cut anyone slack and refused to be understanding.
I wish that I could see them fail over and over again and never have hope that they will triumph in the end.

Because this hate is too much to bear alone.
And I cannot seem to escape the burden that I have chosen to shoulder.
I have trouble seeing value in my own face and I do not see the progressive actions I take.
I wake up to hate.
I go to sleep with hate.
I continue my day with resentment.
I never allow satisfaction.
I am restless and unsatisfied with life and myself.
I see no point in waking up and I have ceased to see value in trying.

Because what is the point?
No matter how happy I may be in a moment it doesn’t last.
And no matter how much I convince myself that I am making progress I don’t see evidence of it.
I see the same destroyed person in the mirror every day and I am disappointed.
I am weak and less than what I want to be.

Because I set my standards too high so that I am never satisfied.
No matter what I may achieve it is never good enough and I could always be doing more.
I can always be better person and I can always find ways to grow.
I can always seek more knowledge and I can always feel inferior to what others have accomplished.
I will always compare myself to others because I do not trust that my standards are worth living by.
And I will always feel the pressure of living this life to the fullest because I know what it is to have it stolen.

Because I fear fulfilling the fate of my father and I fear history repeating itself.
I resent that I am a self-fulfilling prophecy and I hate that it is within my power to change that.
I want to sit back and trust that life will get me where I need to go.
I want to be passive in my pursuit and rewarded for my casual attitude.
I want this life to be easy and I want it to divulge the secrets it keeps.

Because I want all the answers but none of the rejection.
And I want to succeed with this gift that has been handed to me.
I want to be grateful and I want to thank life for every day I get to live.
I want this life to mean so much that I am crushed by the pressure.
And in the end I fail to see what this life could be if I just trusted in me.

I wish that I could be strong.
I wish that I could be fierce.
I wish that I could be bold.
I wish that I could be brave.
I wish that I could have no faults.
And I wish that I could finally forgive myself for being human.

The Person I Hate The Most

Sometimes I hate myself.

I hate that I get high and I hate that I always seem to get by.
I hate that I often lose my phone and that I am threatened to lose my home.
I hate that I can hate myself so much that I do not see that there is anyone I can trust.
I hate that I ooze hate and that it is a reflex I can’t negate.
I hate my attempts to rhyme and I hate that it doesn’t work out half the time.
I hate that I think I’m something special because I have reached my threshold.

Because I hate disappointment.

I could turn this around and talk about what I love and tell everything else to shove it.
I could say that I love that I am brave and that I have things to say.
I could celebrate my body and the strength that I have built upon me.
I could be proud of my wandering mind and trust that there is still more value to find.
I could be easy and do the things that please me.
I could lie and deny this hate that builds inside.

But I know that it’s there.

It is a burning that tears down my soul,
And a feeling that is difficult to ignore,
It washes over me without a choice,
And it is in those moments when I lose my voice,
To the crushing sounds of another,
One that wants to smother,
Any sign of strength I might be holding onto,
And the tasks on which I thought I’d follow through,
It debilitates and resonates,
These feelings of hate.

I cannot help but listen.

Because what is the point?
How can I fight?
When there is nothing worth living for and nothing I like?
Hate is an old friend,
One who inspires the movement of this pen.
And if hate can do that,
How can I hate hate?
But it’s not hate that I hate,
It’s me and the things I allow myself to be:
An addict,
A bad friend,
And someone who has sunk into depression.

Hate is nothing I want to be.
But it is a part of me.
And that is plain to see.

Letting Go

This is a piece written in anger — anger against all the girls and guys who talk shit about others behind their backs or pretend to be a friend when they never were in the first place. This is about all the girls who whispered secrets behind my back and spread rumors to get under my skin. And it’s about all the times that I allowed it to happen. I allowed them to get into my head and to ruin my perception of myself. I allowed their words to affect me and get under my skin. I allowed them to win without ever showing them that they were. I never responded with spreading vicious rumors about them or picking cat fights in public places. I never even spoke out a word of defense for myself because I was too stunned that someone would dare not like me. I am well loved by many, including complete strangers — how could these bitchy girls actually find something to not like about me? I am sweet and soft spoken and have never been described as cruel by anyone besides my mother in my teenage years. I can count on one hand the number of people who outwardly did not like me and felt the need to express it to those I trust. And those I trust always relayed it back to me, taking my side when I never asked them to. I could always trust the ones I kept by my side and I always felt betrayed by those who would dare go behind my back when I had given them nothing but honesty and kindness. There was Melissa who didn’t like that I started on the soccer team that my dad coached. And there was Christie who didn’t like that I was dating her ex-boyfriend. They both started high school rumors about how bad I am at things or that I was a huge prude, but I never allowed it to really get under my skin. I let them talk shit to everyone around me, completely oblivious to it happening, and when the rumors did make it to me, I brushed them off as the silly talk of girls and never really let it amount to anything. I knew their criticism was immature and unjustified and that they were doing it to make themselves feel better.┬áBut this time I let it happen. I didn’t start it but I finished it for the first time in my life, and the weight of my words not continuously crush my kind heart. I know what I said was out of repressed anger and that there was so much more that I would never say to her. I know that I am happier without her in my life and that we were never really good friends even after seven years of trying to make it work. I know that I only put up with her for the sake of my brother, and that we never truly got along. But I also know that I hate leaving things on a bad note. I hate passive aggressive battles and bitchy glances across crowded rooms. I hate that I am over it but she will not allow me to be. I said what I thought I finally needed to say, but it didn’t have the effect I was looking for. I sunk to her level and I think that’s what bothers me more than anything. I hate that I became what I hate and that now I am stuck in that image, never to be repaired. I hate that she won in the end. It was never about keeping points in the past, but she makes me want to and I can’t let it go. I want to apologize just to fix things and smooth the awkwardness over, but I don’t want to allow her that. I want to be the bigger person, but she makes me feel small and cornered and the need to fight my way out of corners viciously no matter what casualties may happen. She makes me hate myself a little bit and she makes me regret ever attempting to be friends with her in the first place. I wanted to be mature and rise above this and not allow it to bother me, but I can’t. I feel the need to talk shit, spread rumors and vent to anyone willing to listen. She makes me want to slander her name on social media and never see her face again. She makes me wish her a life filled with as much hate and anger as she makes me feel so that she will never know what it is like to truly be happy. I wish the worst for her and I hate that she makes me do it. I have never hated someone and I find it exhausting to hold a grudge. I don’t like fighting and I avoid conflict with others to my own deprecation. And the one time I stood up for myself, I am ashamed of the words that came out of me. I invited hate and anger into my life, but I felt like she pushed me there. I have never left a friendship on bad terms and I hate that this one was in my control and I chose to handle it badly. I hate what she made me and I hate that I can’t seem to shake my shame. I hate that I want to apologize for nothing and that I want to allow her to win the battle I never intended on starting. I hate my pride and wish that I could rise above it and ignore her grasping to continue pulling me down even after she is no longer in my life. I hate the hate and myself for allowing it into my life. There is so much more for me to be caring about in life, yet my guilt and her face always seems to surface when I am least expecting it — in the early mornings or late nights, when I should be thinking about what I want to do with my day and the people I would see. I get anxiety just thinking about running into her around town and I allow myself to avoid social situations because of it. I want to prove to her that my life is better without her, and provoke her to apologize to me. But I know that will never happen. I know this is my own guilt and that talking to her could only make things worse. I know I just have to let it go, but there is an immature side of me that does not want to loose the battle. Killing her with kindness is the choice I try to take, but in the end I always just want to just kill her instead. I can’t explain it, and I don’t think I will ever understand the hate, but I can try to let it go from my life. I can try to move on and let things lie. I can never fix this one alone, and I don’t need to. If it is meant to happen it will, but in the mean time I need to just let it go — otherwise it will get the best of me and I will have invited hate into my life to stay. And I would hate myself way more than her if I allowed that to happen over a silly tift over text. She makes me feel like I am in high school again, surrounded by the bitchy girls I hate. And I have the opportunity to let that go from my life once again. I don’t have to live like this and I don’t have to fix everything. Some relationships were never friendships in the first place and I can’t leave everyone on good terms. There will be those who hate me, but all I can do is cease to invite them to be a part of my life. I will no longer invite her in and I will allow bygones be bygones. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. I don’t hate her face and I don’t hate who she is, I just hate who she makes me and that may be worse than any rumor that could be spread about me.