I'm always worried people hate me
That they see my name in the notification and sigh
That they dread seeing me but feel guilty not to
That they say my name with spite and anger
when telling others about me

I see people and my eyes light up
I think there's do too
They have a bright smile stretched over their face
which I don't even know if it's true
or a false facade to hide their rage

Within the fortress of my chest,
two armies rise at dawn—
one clad in crimson silk,
the other in shadowed steel.

Love, with hands warm as sunrise,
lays flowers along the corridors of my mind, promising peace in a voice
that feels like home.

Hate, with eyes like storm-torn skies,
sets fire to every blooming thing,
swearing the ruin is mercy,
and the ashes, my salvation.

They march the same veins,
drink from the same pulse,
speak in the same tongue—
and yet their banners
will never fly side by side.

Some nights, Love wins
and the world feels golden.
Some nights, Hate takes the crown
and I sharpen my silence into swords.

But more often—
they lock arms in stalemate,
pressing their weight upon my soul,
neither yielding,
neither retreating,
leaving me
to live in the uneasy kingdom
where both are king.

"The heart of man is a divided river,
and its two streams know not the other’s course."
— Epic of Gilgamesh

...

Ugly ugly girl
You try so hard, but it never works
You paint your face to make it clear
You wear lashes so your eyes are big
And line your lips so they look full
You even try to fix your nose
The curl in your hair is to match your face
And the hairspray so it doesn’t go away
Lastly perfume so they say you smell sweet
Yet even with the money you pay
Or the time you spend
Stroking, drawing, blending for perfection
You still seem so broken
Like you’ve always been
It never goes away no matter how hard you try to cover it
Ugly ugly girl
You try so hard but it never works
You will never stop aching to be pretty
So you can be put back together

Grief is a strange thing.
It can have many masks and be many faces.
It can be anger.
It can be hate.
It can be laughter
And it can be an overwhelming sadness.
Grief is a stranger.
It is the man in an alleyway dressed in black.
It can watch you.
It can grab you.
And it can even make you one of its own.
It is in times of Grief we must fight.
We must crawl and claw our way out.
Because Grief can make us a stranger,
Even to ourselves.

Do not bear hatred, though the wrong be great,

For God perceives all deeds  both love and hate.

Leave judgment to the One whose scales are true,

Who rights all sins when justice falls due.

And pity him who walks the path of wrong,

For tyrants dance, but not for very long.

They sleep in joy, yet wake in dread and pain

Oppression’s wine returns in bitter rain.