1999
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 it, 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 that 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.
Kat Stratford