I hate the way you talk
to me,
and the way you cut your hair.
I hate the way
you drive my car;
I hate it when you stare.
I hate your
big dumb combat boots
and the way you read my
mind.
I hate you so much
it makes me sick,
it even makes me rhyme.
I hate the way
you’re always right,
I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when
you make me laugh,
even worse when you make me
cry.
I hate it when
you’re not around,
and the fact that you didn’t call.
But mostly I hate
the way I don’t hate you,
not even close…
not even a little bit…
not even at
all.
