I hate myself,
but I don’t tell that to the world,
not especially in the way I walk and conduct myself.
There has to be a level of appreciation you owe,
gratitude you display,
whether you direct it to God,
or are tangling with notion of direction,
you aren’t worthy of pity,
the world owes you nothing,
this battle with self hate is there,
as a constant reminder,
call it a dangling carrot,
to aim for better.
Just because you arrange your indignation in rows,
just because you can be more broken than everyone around you,
be a little more hateful of the things you can control instead,
things inside you,
like the burning ball in your throat,
that you can’t contain,
the sweat in your palms that clenches your fists,
the vile between your teeth that seethes,
your shoulders,
and how far you extend your palm,
let all that rage and all that hurt,
force you to find fault in yourself,
and from it,
learn to soothe and embalm.
W.E.
lonerloaner 