I used to think
that they
were overreacting.
A break up can't
hurt like that.
******.
It's all
true.
I reach for the
ice cream.
I must've gained
ten pounds since
I told you
I can't treat you
the way you
want to be treated.
I cannot sleep
at night
Because I
wonder if
you hurt
as much as me.
I cannot listen to
music.
Because every melody
is a memory
every lyric is
our story.

*******.

We spent too
much time together.
I told you everything.
I would spend a day
with you.
And when I got home
we'd talk on the phone.
Til the sun came up.
You were the only
one
who
knew
me.

This sinking pit
in my abdomen.
The word
****
constantly on the
tip of my tongue.
The feeling of
hating you
loving you
missing you
wanting you
forgiving you
loathing you.

I cannot
help but think.
I wasted time on you...

I wait
all **** day long.
I hope
all **** day long.
And for what?
a call
a *******
*******.
I should be
stronger than this,
but I pine
hopelessly for you.
I long for your touch.
Why can't I open
my eyes and see that
my hope in you,
is futile.
And though,
one day,
I wish to be more.
The truth is...
I'm just a piece of *** to you.

It's like ******, each word said
Injected into my ear
Your lips are the needle.
I get chills, I know it's wrong
So wrong.
I try to avoid it by plugging my ears
The urge is too strong to
listen, listen, listen
The "Did you hear about"s and
The "I can't believe they"s
Have me crawling back for more
I'm hooked on those juicy lies

It's like a cigarette.
I breath in the information
Luckily, it doesn't blacken my lungs.
My soul, however cannot say the same.
I release the built up smoke
So everyone else can share in my knowledge
Some unwilling,
Others take a deep breath in,
Blackening their soul with
Second-hand gossip

It's like a joint
A community drug
You can't keep it all to yourself
Let's pass it around the circle,
And make sure everyone gets a
nice
long
drag
It makes serious matters casual.
You regret.

It's alcohol
I don't know what I'm saying
And my mind blurs with fuzzy lines
Between right and wrong.
I pick up my keys and
Drive my self righteous car.
I didn't see the stop sign.
I didn't see the warnings.
Now I've affected more than myself
As I stop too late.
I hurt a life,
Multiple lives.

Another victim taken.
Another life ruined.
Another gossip overdose.

Dear Mom,
College is a blast.
I love it here!
I'm doing fine.
Mom, I'm okay.

Or at least I tell you I am
To avoid the proverbial
I told you so
That looms behind everything you say.
The reality is
I'm drowning on dry land
Just like you said I would
I am living up to the stereotype
of my depression and anxiety.

And you,
you were right.
You know me best.
You knew I couldn't do it
And I was so full of myself
I just wanted to prove you wrong.
Just once,
I wanted to swim
Or at least stay afloat.

i am a gun
waiting to be triggered
shooting bullets of my words
into the air.
when i empty my clip,
i breath deep into my lungs to reload.
i am the problem
and the solution.
i am a contradiction
of bittersweet revenge.
i am fought over
and fought with,
i am danger in the wrong hands
safety in the right.
i am a childish toy
without retribution,
a lethal instrument
playing the most sorrowful of music
i change from day to stay
never the same.
so tell me this:
are you feeling lucky?

he won’t text me back.
is that bad?
does he like me?
should i text first?
i’m gonna text first.
he didn’t respond.
this is important.
am i not cute?
why won’t he text me today?
am i a bad kisser?
will he ever come around?
i really like him.
does he like me?
what am i doing?
am i overreacting?
why won’t he text me back?

When I was a kid we had a rosebud tree in my front yard
It bloomed pink in the spring
Sprouting new leaves,
Each leaf was in the shape of a heart
I used to pluck the leaves from the tree,
because I liked the way they looked.
They looked like love.
Love for the whole neighborhood.
Love for the neighbors who I stole flowers from.
A few for the garter snakes we’d torture on the lawn.
Love for Sydney across the street
Knocking on my door every day at 10
Asking to come and play.
Love for Mrs. Moore who loved the sound of our laughter
But wished we’d stay off of her ******* lawn.
Love for Keanna with the fastest bike.
Love for Paige with a pool in her backyard.
Love for Jim,
Call him Mr. Jim, my mother used to say
With a plow on his four wheeler
So our winter chores were simplified.
Love for the steep driveway two doors down
To launch our bikes into the street.
Love for hide and seek.
For freeze tag
For lightning bugs in mayonnaise jars.
For mud pies
For trees that didn’t have pretty leaves.  
Love for the stop signs at the end of the block
That told us when to stop pedaling.
Love for my brother
Love for my dad
Love for my mom.
And love for 3023 N 48th Street.

Dress me up
Tight skirt
Low cut shirt.
I don't **** shame,
Because
Every now and then
It feel good to get some.

Pour me a drink,
So I can tolerate
These drunk *******.
If you can't beat 'em
Join 'em.
What the hell.
I don't want to remember
My mistakes,
But that's all my life is.

Let me *** a smoke.
This weeks been rough
Light me up,
Cuz pretty girls
Don't light their own.

I'm killing myself slowly
Because the pain feels good.

The way you laugh, I laugh too
Like a contagious little flu
Whenever I call you ***.
You light up like the sun
Then you say that little phrase
And it puts me in a daze
'Cuz all I can say is

Chorus:
I kinda, sorta, maybe, a lot like you
Kinda, sorta, maybe, a lot it's true
I can't say I love you
Like-like at the most
Is as far as I can go

I have been hurt a few times
But baby, it's not a crime
If I do not say it back
Could you give me some slack
'Cuz trust can be difficult
So please do not take all fault
Just take my

Chorus:
I kinda, sorta, maybe, a lot like you
Kinda, sorta, maybe, a lot it's true
I can't say I love you
Like-like at the most
Is as far as I can go

I love your texts and kisses
Who knows, someday I might be your missus
So can we take things slow
And see how it goes
with:

I kinda, sorta, maybe, a lot like you
Kinda, sorta---
Ah, **** it!
I love you.

Does anyone know we are all buried?
I am.
I have been screaming for days.
Can no one hear me?
I am the girl buried
beneath the one posing
to be
me.
Can't you hear my screams?
They must be silenced
by the the laughter she feigns.
Can't you see my nightly tears?
Or has she, once again, buried them
behind smiles?
DIG DEEPER!
And you will find me.
The buried me.
Or do the dirt and bugs disgust you?
Do you prefer the pristine greenery
on the surface?
Well, that  "beauty" is
suffocating me.

I called my dad last week,
just to talk,
about life
and that's what we did,
we talked.
About my cousin,
she's pregnant again,
a boy.

About another's wedding.
About work, late hours.
His computer jargon
goes right over my head,
but I pretend it doesn't.

I tell him everything.
Every detail,
my new raise,
I'm rolling in the benjamins,
more like the jacksons.

About going out with friends
on a friday night.
About classes and grades,
his new motorcycle.

We talk and talk and talk.
An hour goes by a
and just as we're about to
say goodbye
he asks a question.

You see, he had a dream,
the kind that reoccurs
night after night after night.
I was molested in the library.
It got to the point where
he could not sleep.
His tone got all serious.
If that ever happen to you,
you'd tell me, right?

We talk all the time.

I moved the phone from my ear
swiping the tears that began to fall,
prayed my voice wouldn't crack,
returned the phone to my ear,
and answered:
of course, daddy.
I lied.

I thought it would be harder,
not his ****,
The situation.
That's what they made me believe,
The teachers with banana condoms
Giving room for the Holy Spirit.
I was made to believe that we would kiss.
And I would contemplate if he was
"the one,"
But, you see, that never happened.
It started with a kiss
And then bigger kiss.
And before I even knew:
There we were.
So simple.
Naked in each other's presence
Sweat glistening like halos
Love no where near.
It was easy.
Easier than I thought
To toss something I held
so dear.
Like trash.

And then we did it again.

I’m really bad at this talk.
I know, because I’ve tried and failed
Plenty of times before.
And yet, here I am again.
I **** at this talk,
I **** at finding the right words.
That’s probably why I’ve written this poem
On the back of receipts thousands of times
And each time they end up crumbled
In the bottom of my backpack.
We kissed last night.
And people look different after you kiss them.
Some people look like the solution
To all of your problems
And the love connection you’ve worked so hard to find.
And yet,
Other people look like awkward run-ins
In the school cafeteria
And late nights wondering the subtext of said kiss.
Did it really actually mean something
Or was the liquor bullying us to do so.
I’m really bad at this talk,
So I guess I’m just tired of wondering.
Because I meant what I said that night
As we held hands on the couch,
Did you?

I am a combination of my family.  
I am a war fought within myself.  
We cannot have a holiday without a fight,  
And religion, politics and football a screaming in my veins.  
I am a women from a collapsing matriarchy,
Who sways her opinion in age,
But could **** you with one look.  
I don’t give a **** if I inconvenience you  
Because I am fighting for my freedom with An expensive taste in scotch.  
I am young, I am youth, and I am confused  
Surrounded by people who have their **** together.  
I am holding back tears  
When I am told I should stop dreaming, because this is my reality.  
I am full as I continue to eat,  
Because everything is a competition in my family
And they didn’t let me play dodge ball with the boys.  
I am a stone cold fox who gets torn down  
By those I’ve known my whole life.
They strip away my confidence  
As I hide in the corner.

I doodle our names
Over and over
And over and over again
And then I draw so many hearts
That it makes me sick.
I do all this because I like you
I like you like first grade.
When I call you a meanie **** face
That’s to show how much I care.
I wish I could bluntly tell you how I feel.
I would say:
“I think you’re cute”
“I like-like you”
But I can’t say those thing
Because you can’t a boy you like him
If it makes you look like an idiot
And I am tongue tied
In the presence of you
It is impossible for me to look in your eyes
And not speak in an idiotic, incoherent babble.
I like you like first grade
I’ll chase you around the playground,
I’ll steal a kiss when I finally tag you.
I want to catch all your cooties,
Because, baby, I’m love sick.
I want to hold hands
Til all the other kids say “eww”
Because boys are gross,
Well, all boys except you.
Maybe I’ll have my mom call your mom
And we can go on a play date.
Juice boxes,
Pillow forts
And old Disney movies.
How romantic?
But for now I’ll just doodle
Until I get up the courage to pass the note
With three check boxes
Do you like me back?
Yes?
No?
Maybe?

The only reason you call me beautiful
Is so I’ll take my bra off.
I’m not stupid,
Or at least I didn’t think I was.
I strip down to skin for your pleasure.
I fell for it.
The whole package.
The way you said it.
“Beautiful.”
So assured with a the slightest flash of those teeth.
“Beautiful.”
I believed it was the truth
When you said my name
Made me feel whole.  

You say you love me so I’ll take off my pants
I didn’t know what love was,
But I knew how many tiles were on your ceiling.  
I often mistake love for lust.
I mistake it like the taste of alcohol and your tongue,
For the late nights where you push me further.
I thought this was what all couples did.
I thought it was normal.
I thought it was love.

Baby, if you loved me
You would’ve respected me.
You would have taken my no
As a concrete answer
Instead a challenge you needed to win.

My mother now asks where that nice young man is
And why I had to go and ruin what we had,
Why I had to ruin our love.
But we had nothing but empty promises
And boundary breaking.
Maybe when the next boy comes around
With love poems and Cupid's arrow in his pants
I will recognize the warning signs.
And when he calls me beautiful
I will say
“**** straight.”
And then proceed to walk out of his room
Instead of taking the spot he reserved for me
Beneath his sheets of lust and deceit.

I've got songs that remind me
of you on repeat
and a half bottle of stolen *****.

This is what my life has turned into:

Tear stained pillows
and lying to my friends.


I knew you were trouble
and so did everyone else in
the ******* world,
but I just had to taste you.

I now know how Eve went about
eating the forbidden fruit.
She just wanted a taste,
a little bite wouldn't hurt anybody.
But nibble after nibble the fruit was gone
and all that was left was a rotten aftertaste
of regret and cigarettes.

Every make-up has a name,
Every shade is labeled differently.
Her lipstick is called Trapped
It’s a beautiful blood red
She applies to the corners of her lips
To accent their shape.
She always couples that with
But He Still Loves Me, her blush.
A purple, yellow and green combination
To make her cheekbones pop.
Her eye shadow is called
I'll Try Better Next Time
When applied it gives her a
Perfect smoky eye.
Her foundation comes in
A socially accepted beige titled:
*Everything’s Fine, I Promise

You don’t know who I am
And I—
I just found out about you.
So let me introduce myself:
I am the woman who is tearing your world apart
Who is breaking your heart, slowly
And you—
You don’t even know it.

Late at night do you ever get a wave of sadness,
The kind that is sudden and unexplained?
I regret to say that
It is me.
And because he won’t tell you
I feel obliged to apologize.
I’m sorry,

I never wanted to hurt you,
I just wanted love
And you of all people know
How good his love feels.

I don't very much like compliments anymore.
Please, please don't call me beautiful.
I'm still trying to cope with the last time
I was called beautiful,
I wouldn't a' ****** ya
if you weren't
How reassuring,
he said it as though my beauty
was the only reason I was graced
with the gift of his ****.
It wasn't the drinking
or the party
or the conversations we held.
Only my beauty.  

Beautiful
is what the men who are
twice, no, three times, my age
nod at me as I walk to work.

Beautiful
is the nickname given to me
by one night stands
who can't seem to remember
my name is Nicholle.

Beautiful
feels like his hands silhouetting
my body after I told him to stop.

Beautiful
just reminds me of how hollow I feel
at the end of the day

Beautiful
is an understatement
for everything I am.

So please, find another way
to compliment me,
a different adjective
to describe me looks.
Or better yet don't
compliment my looks,
I am so much more.
You can compliment
my words
my soul,
the way I make you feel.

A ghost of memories
And shadows of used-to-bes
Dance around
without making a sound.
A nightmare echoes
No one hears, no one knows.
The pain resonates
from morning until late
The door stays shut
Trying to stop us, but
I check out of fear.
Yep, you're still not here.

Pigtails and a rosary in my hand.
that's the little girl I used to be.
I liked her,
Innocence flowing free.
Whenever she had a problem
she turned to God.
Believin' He'd fill her every will.
Prayin' through the good,
the bad and all in between.
A faithful little teen.

I think she'd hate me.

Maybe I was drinking,
Maybe I was *******-schwasted,
But I know that's not an excuse.
Maybe I left my door unlocked,
But I know I didn't invite you in.
Maybe I responded to a text,
But I know told you to leave.
Maybe I kissed you before,
But I know didn't want to that night.
Maybe I didn't say it loud enough,
Maybe I didn't enunciate,
But I know I wasn't willing.

I'm scared to be in a place I call home,
I can't sleep in my own bed,
I'm scarred for life, for love.
I'm going crazy.

Maybe I can't admit it to myself,
But I know it happened.
Maybe I was *****,
But I know it wasn't my fault.

Our first time is suppose to be
perfect
Rose petals,
Dim lights,
Comfy bed,
And the boy we love.
That's what it should be.
So I call a do-over.
Can I just start fresh.
Cuz I'm embarrassed to say
Dark closet,
Liquor on our breath,
Trying to keep quiet,
With a girl who told me it's okay.
And I told her it's okay.
I guess life doesn't always work
The way we want it to.

i can't handle this ****
falling atop my head,
because i'm starting to believe the lies.
it has been said, no,
reassured
too many times
with the same false sincerity
smeared across their faces.
it seems they are masking
a lie or a secret.
do they think i'm too
fragile?
they try to comfort me.
constantly.
they try not to point it out,
but the more they say
"it's okay."
the more i know:
my life is not okay.

I hear them talk about me.
****.
This wasn't my first rendez-vous
on the rumor mill.
Because boys and alcohol
make a problematic equation
especially when you add
booming music and dancing.
I've made the same mistakes before
with lips and backrooms.
But I know better,
I tell myself.
I knew better
than to kiss necks on dance floors.
But I fell for it,
I fell for the liquor in my veins,
for the music thrusting in my ears
and other places too...
I've done this all before
with the same
"what the ****"
on my tongue
and regret in my eyes.

I hear them talk about me:
The girl who can't control herself,
her urges.
****.
Maybe if we locked the door,
I wouldn't have to walk around
avoiding eye contact with everyone
wondering whether or not they saw me
and which half they saw.
I knew better but,
it's simple math
boys plus
alcohol plus
me equals
what keeps the rumor mills alive.

His name sounds foreign in my ears,
I can taste his accent on my tongue,
His skin, a bittersweet blend of my favorite coffee,
His clothes baggy as if he was hiding something.
These characteristics do not,
I repeat do not, make him a terrorist.
He is a terrorist because
He crashed into my twin towers when I let my guard down.
He left me burning to the ground,
And suddenly I was awake to the thought that
Life was not as beautiful as I mused.
The sun had stopped shining,
The world had stopped spinning
And all I could feel was pain.
He is my terrorist because
I cannot sleep in my own bed
I do not feel safe in my home.
I am on maximum security,
Tighten up my boarders,
Make sure no one gets in.
Not in my mind,
Not in my heart,
And NOT in my pants.
You see, I made a mistake:
I trusted him.
I didn’t believe he could do this.
I didn’t want to believe he could do this.
But now I’m unsure
If trust is even an option anymore.
Can I trust myself
Not to take too many pain pills
Trying to ease this unsettling feeling
crawling on my body?
Can I trust someone else?
To tell or not to tell,
That is the question,
Because unlike 9/11,
10/20 was breaking news on every channel.
It was kept hidden from the scrutinizing eyes
Who said I was asking for it
Who said we were "dating"
Who said that I wanted it.
Next on the 6 o’ clock news,
Local college freshman says
She wants to be *****,
Just looking for the right guy to do it,
When she’s drunk and alone
In the middle of the night.
She’ll leave the door unlocked
Because she forgot.
So if she doesn’t answer when you knock
Come on in.
She wants it.
And after you do what you do
I will wonder if life is even worth it
As I search for my pants in the dark.
And I will cry, more tears than I knew possible.
And I will pray,
Because like any good Catholic knows:
We pray when we need something,
And dear lord, I need answers.
Why?
Why did he think this was okay?
And what can I do to feel okay?
I don’t want to feel great,
Not even good,
I just want to feel okay
Again.
He is my terrorist
And I am ready to wage war.
Although I am afraid of how many casualties will be lost
Or how the average American views my war.
I know this is a war that needs to be fought.
And it needs to be fought sooner than later,
Because maybe I am preemptively saving
The next country from this
****** extremist

I know your class schedule,

You eat dinner at six.

And lunch at twelve thirty

On Tuesday’s you have a seven forty five

And I’m happy you don’t get to sleep in.

I know your class schedule

And which paths you take to get there.

I know your Facebook

Like the back of my hand.

Every photo you’ve shared,

And your statuses too.

I can’t help but check,

Type your name in the search bar,

Because the pain has a weird calming feeling.

I feel like if I know your every move.

I can know when you’re coming.

And I can run the other way.

I'm trying to find my home in this world.
The place where I belong,
because this 11 by 16 room isn't
quite doing it for me.
And when I travel five and a half hours
back to the place where I grew up.
Still nothing.

But little did I know home was not just a place.
It is an event, a feeling
that can only be described with a smile on my face
as I finish Buzzfeed quizzes in the RA's office
on a Thursday night.
It is writing poetry in the early hours of the day
when my creativity is heightened and
I speak in my "poetry voice" loud enough
for my neighbor to come knocking.
It is that no-named familiar face who
always smiles at you every day at 8:37
when you cross paths,
because he knows
Monday mornings make me meditate ******,
and a smile can ease that pain.
Home is a hug from a friend
that needs no words to be exchanged,
just a tight squeeze and
an unspoken pinky promise to
never let go.
It is Taco Bell on a Friday night
until they lock the doors
as you loiter and nibble at
nachos and a small drink
split between four people.

Home is the only meal my mother
knows how to make well,
but still burns it.
It is acceptance when you
trust someone with your
deepest darkest secrets
and they still couldn't stop loving you.
It is a phone call from the person
you needed to talk to the most.

Most importantly home is
a feeling that everything is going to be alright
no matter how bad life seems to get.

She was raised Catholic,
Maybe that’s why she hated God.
Because from birth
She was baptized in hypocrisy
Confirmed in condescension.
She began to choke on the bible verses crammed down her throat
The name of God tasted like poison on her tongue
It had been repeated so many times
It had lost its meaning
She just went through the motions
Sit down, stand up, kneel, and repeat
Sit down, stand up, kneel, and repeat
A drone-like disciple
Drowning in the sea
That Jesus was walking on.
She questioned, but
Any question raised had a simple answer:
Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ!
How come love one’s die?
Jesus Christ loved them that much.
Why aren’t I happy?
Have you tried Jesus? They said
Yes, yes she had.
And the curative powers of the Lord
Seemed to be failing her.
Every time she felt the slightest joy
It was a sin.
She was raised Catholic,
Maybe that’s why she hated God

When I was little I was given a series of boxes to check.
Mark one and only one that applies.
White, Black, Asian, Mexican, and Other: please explain
There was only problem.
I was not just one box.
So I always check Other and wrote human.
At my young age I did not see pigment as a person
The two sides who fought a war,
Who owned eachother
Sat at my dinner table
And laughed.
My parent's marriage wasn't even legal
When they were babes in their mother's arms,
And I didn't have a check box.
Other: human,
Other: child,
Other: pretty,
Other: combo meal 5.99,
Other: beyond definitions.
Or maybe being both meant I could choose
Scholarship applications: black,
******* love diversity
Background check: white.
Check one and only one
And if you cannot find a way to fit into
The mold already created for you.
Too bad.
Because you have one box.
One box: Female
One box: 18
One box: Mixed

I don't remember
okay!
Stop asking me.
I can't remember!
So back off.
I think we did
not.
Or maybe we
did.

My memories are
constantly
buffering.
The waiting.
It kills me.
And then
little
chunks
finally
load.

****.
I remember.

But now,
I don't want to.

After hooking up and having ***
on the floor at a rager with a stranger.
After having to be reminded of your name,
again.
After avoiding each other,
taking different paths
just so we don't have to see each other.
After looking down when
we accidentally take the same path.
After embarrassment  
wondering what he told his friends,
because I know what I told mine
a lot with many details.  

After all that,
we woke up today and realized:
we were in love.

after a while

***** turns to water
and all of a sudden
it doesn't burn like it used to.

dancing turns to kissing
turns to *******

mistakes you can't take
back with the door wide open.

"this isn't free ****!"
at least someone
is looking out for me,
because I sure as hell ain't.

the truth turns to rumors
as pinocchio's nose grows.

"that's not what happened!

not exactly"
I try to salvage what's left
of my reputation.

but then again,
I was too drunk to
know what really did happen.

i guess it didn't happen.
i made it up.
it never happened.
i guess my imagination
has a sick sense of humor.
because he said it never happened.
he was never in my room that night.
we never kissed.
we never ******.
it's all in my head.
because he's a good guy.
and i'm a drunk mess.

I’m done with nights like these
With the drinking and
The drugs and the boys
I tell myself for the fourth time this year.
Maybe I just won’t go out anymore,
No more drinking and maybe,
Just maybe I can keep my pants on
Around some dude I’ve just met.
Make a more attainable goal
My friends who’ve the gossip say,
I’m not that kind of girl
I tell myself for the fifth time,
The kind who leaves love at the door
When she picks up the bottle
I have feelings and a heart.
I fall in love with my drunken regrets
Because they call me beautiful
And accept me for who I am.
This isn’t me
I say for the sixth time,
“What’s your name again?”
I ask after it’s over
But maybe it’s a little more me
Than I’d like to admit.

Do I kiss strangers to prove
he hasn't ****** me up?
Or has he ****** me up
to the point where I kiss strangers?

i love to talk.
with words.
without substance.
carelessly speak
about the weather.

i hate to talk.
with words.
with meaning.
words that make me vulnerable.
words that make me hurt.

i hate to speak
the words that need to be said.

When you kissed me
I let my mind run wild
and it chose to run to
the memories of kisses
I try so hard to forget.
You kissed me
and I really liked you,
I really did.
But I said the wrong name.
And he,
that repressed memory
came to life.
And I was no longer with a boy I loved,
but with one I fear.


Please stop kissing me.

There is something about it,
parties with too much alcohol
and boys I've yet to taste. There
is something about it, sneaking
off into the shadows to do what
I want with whomever I please.
There is something about the
confidence you get, because
we chose each other to be our
bad decision of that night.
There is something about it,
the regret of never looking you
in the eyes again, cause god
****** our campus is too
small. There is something
about it, the rumors that do
not **** me off as much as
they should. There is a sense
of humor in the way I know
what people saw me do but
my give a **** level seems to
be broken. There is something
about it, friday nights, alcohol
and boys I have finally tasted.

They all tell me
To be angry
To be ******
To be mad
At you.
My friends, family and
Even my the therapist
Have tossed out the word hate
In reference to you.  
And I'm trying hard to take their advice.
But I can't seem to summon any hate for you.
And I'm trying hard,
But I'm only end up hating myself.