Hate has the same eyes as yours,
brown and tender.
They carry the same look
as if I was everything wrong with the world.
Hate has the same movement as you,
slow and swinging from side to side.
Careless and judged
by everyone who lays eyes on you.
Hate feels the same as you,
burning feeling of anger
but with passion and care
deep beneath the skin.
Hate has the same hair as you,
short and greasy,
which sticks to my hands as I brush through
the brown locks.
Hate looks like you,
but I don't mind it.
Because I admit
I love looking at you.