I hate you.
The words you use.
The way I flinch
at any sudden moves
afraid it is you
ready to strike.
I hate how you act
like a small spoiled child
when you're supposed to be:
a mother
a role model
a gentle soul.
Why do I love you?
I defend you!
I blame myself!
I'm told I must.
"You can't hate your mother".
So if I do,
I must pretend
and force myself
to love you
instead of hate.