hate

i hate to say it, but alcohol makes me more poetically inclined. & i hate the way he chews & i hate the new stretch marks cradling my tummy like you once did & i hate everyone else because they’re not you & i hate you because you are & i hate me because you hate her & i hate hating. it’s dirty & gritty & i don’t mind dirt & grit that serve a purpose but hatred is foul, repugnant, & it’s not what jesus would do—not that i’m in the business of christianity but someone once prophesied a birth the day after christ’s would be bound to follow in his footsteps & i could be disciple, but i’m not & i digress. i’m too tired to be good & to be hateful & to chew bubblegum. jaw gone slack like silly putty pulls & gingivitis. i don’t hate the dentist, just the fillings & feeling like the ash tray on her windowsill that billowed & sputtered & suffocated me awake every morning when i was still gooey & chewy on the inside. my claw marks are still on her mattress & hers are still on my lips, her blood cells still pushing mine into lockers. i have never swallowed the ingredients the way i swallowed hers. i hate to remember. i hate even more to forget. blood oaths & sacrifices & shanghai cigarettes. parliaments. & owls & rats scurrying toward us on avenue b & sneaking out to fuck a guy or two or three. the dorian gray. the hailstorms. blizzard. cheeseburger in the snow. i wore her clothes, slept in her sweat. if that wasn’t love, what is? it wasn’t love, so what is?