Tag: hate

300

look. don’t try to pretend
you don’t like me. we’re way too deep
for those kinds of games.
I’m not asking for the moon, you idiot,
or anything you are not willing
to give. haven’t I proved
my patience by now?

you’d be lucky
to have me. I’m fucking
awesome and I think
my resume has proved
that I am a great girlfriend.
fuck you if you think
I’m not good enough
for you.

I can go on a well-known website
where one can post free personals
and easily amass a veritable
army of dudes
begging me to grace them
with my presence. I can recreate
the movie 300
with men who would love to be
my paramour.

don’t make me sic them
on your ass.

enough.

I’d do kick-boxing, but
there aren’t enough punching
bags in the world
to absorb my rage
when I think of him.

I’d do primal scream
therapy, but
there aren’t enough decibels
in the world to yell
my feelings loud enough
to make them go away.

I’d do hypnosis, but there’s
not enough trance
in the world to make
me feel calm after
the way he treated me,
along with every other girl
he’s ever met.

I’d straight-up punch
him in the face,
if I weren’t
such a pacifist.
he’s lucky
I have yet to learn
Krav Maga. one day
I might know how
to actually
hurt him – without
disabling or permanent
injury of course – I’m not
a monster.

still. whatever
I did,
it would not be
enough.

bonsai

twisted, constricted
bent every which way, but
still striving towards the light.
I’ve been sadly warped by you, mama,
and never learned how
to straighten up and grow right.

what does sunlight look like
when it’s not filtered through glass?
what does love look like
when it’s not strained through an agenda?

trained and pruned,
grafted and transplanted
all that artifice and care
just to make me look like
everyone else.

the wires mustn’t show.
don’t look at the gardener
behind the curtain.
you wouldn’t like what you see.

miniaturized. my need for growth
was used against me.
no matter how hard I tried,
I couldn’t expand beyond
the hard limits
imposed by the tiny pot.
if left alone, I would have sprawled
over ten times that surface area,
run rampant, kudzu-like,
over all your proprieties.

the pathos of things
like trees tortured to stay tiny
but look like their normal size parents.
if this is what your empathy looks like,
spare me.
I’d rather have been raised by wolves
than oppressed by your idea of civilization.

over.

if you haven’t noticed
how my feelings have changed
towards you lately,
let me spell it out, make it crystal,
so there can be no mistake.
I no longer love you.

stop talking to me
stop following me
stop projecting your crazy fantasies
of a future that never even
came close to existing
except in your imagination
onto me.
I never wanted that in the first place.
I wanted the one thing
you couldn’t give me:
yourself, in the present.

after all this, I think
you never really cared about me
the way I cared about you.
I at least tried to see you
for who you were.
I wanted to know the real you
as much as you would let me,
which wasn’t very much.

you saw only
what you wanted to believe;
you put your fucked-up shit on me
tried to make me think
that the sky wasn’t blue
up was down
black was white
love was hate
and hate was love.
you are a Minister of Disinformation
and I’m turning off
your propaganda channel,
ripping up the leaflets,
tuning my radio to another, better station.

please feel free to move on
to the next girl
who doesn’t know yet
how unbelievably awful you are.