That’s not accurate.
I don’t hate love.

I hate love poems.
And I hate myself
Because I keep on
Writing love poems.

I don’t want to.
I don’t try to.
But I still do.

But that doesn’t matter.
Not for this poem.
Is it a poem?
Stream of consciousness.

I hate love poems.
Predictable.
Cliche.
Worshipping.

Maybe that’s it.
The worship part.
That might be it.
I’m atheist you see.

But so often they,
Love poems,
Rely on description.
And they flop.

“Your eyes are the moon.
Full and bright.”
Give it a rest.
Don’t cop a bad description.
Especially when it’s overused.

Get some originality.
Don’t try to make us *****.
That’s not a good look
Even if you’re in love.

But I guess you aren’t me.
So you don’t have to listen.
But if you are,
Listening that is,
Please no.

If you’re gonna do it
Do it right.
Cause I bet you wouldn’t dare
To half *** your love effort.

I keep trying.
And keep failing.
Something always
Keeps coming up.
That’s just my luck.
Maybe one day
I might succeed.
But not today.

And so it began.
The end.

We all knew it would come.
We just didn’t know when.
We didn’t know how.
We didn’t know where.
We didn’t know who.

But we all knew why.

If you overstep boundaries
There are repercussions.
If you overstep again,
Three times, four times,
Five, six, seven times,
There’s more.

And we had overstepped
One too many times.

And so
One by one
We all
Started
To
Disappear.

Until we discovered

The End of The End.

I had forgotten what I called her.
I remember now.
Belle.
Fitting.
Her, a beauty, even if she won’t recognize it,
And me, a beast.
All I can hope for is that
Maybe I’m lucky enough to be hers.

I had this dialogue
With you.
In my head.
I had some stupid ideas.

Kinda stupid.
You open a window and we talk.
Stupid.
You come outside and we talk.
Pretty stupid.
We drive around for hours but come back before you’re supposed to be awake.
Really stupid.
We go and drive and don’t come back until the next night.
Bat **** crazy stupid.
We go.

I get it now.
I didn’t used to.
But I understand.

A few years ago
I had a friend.
He was my role model.
But he wasn’t perfect.

He once described
Just what he had done.

“My arms should be
A hilly desert.
But instead
I have only one scar
That didn’t fade away.”

He described it as
The pain in your mind
Being so great
That you have to distract
By causing physical pain.

I get it now.
Self harm seems like a **** good option right now.