I hate that I hate you.

I’m thinking about how much I loathe you

even when you’re not in front of me,

It’s as if you dug your nails into my skin; our DNA now intertwined.



Why can’t my hatred for you be normal, boring, mundane?

Why do I hate that I hate you?

I want to press the refresh button on all our memories, and start with a clean slate.

I want to shout.

And scream. At my heart


For being weak, for giving in to these compulsions.

For falling for the same tricks, over and over again.

I hate that I hate you.

For what you do to me,

I regret that I’ve given you so much thought.


You’ve got me so wrapped up in you, in me, in us.

In what we were, in what we could’ve been.

It’s a never-ending loop reminding me that,

I hate that I hate you.

I hate you.


You make me second guess things, make me feel broken.

This feeling, it claws at me every day,

of every minute, of every second.

But you don’t care. You never did.

I hate that I hate you. But you-, you love it.

Photo: Katrin Hauf on Unsplash.com