Miss Conception

No, I don't.
I don't want to listen to your voice,
that pattern of never-ending waves
of deafening frequency.

I don't want to hear you speak,
not with those letters stringed together in exaggeration.

I don't want to see your face,
that thick mound of skin cells that constitute a nightmare.

I don't want to feel your presence,
which in all honesty,
sends me into a silent rampage of suppressed fury and disgust.

I don't want to breathe your air
nor feel that heavy pressure of false blather
compressed into a preoccupied volume of bitterness.

I don't hate you;
I hate the very life you live
that's drawn you as this.
I hate the people who fed you with all this hatred
but then, I hate you more for eating it.

I repeat, I don't hate you.
It's just that you do certain things.
They say there's always room for change
and I believed that,
but you exploited it in the worst way.
Why?

#

Hey, I'm a happy kid. I just needed to write something else.