There are many things that I hate.


I hate socializing with other people because people are people and people are strange. I’ve never quite understood their egocentric behavior or why their smiles never reflect in their eyes, as if they’re just pretending to be happy and when I decline to join in their fallacious acts, I get deemed the outcast, the weirdo.  In my head, my weirdness translates into realness that threatens to unravel their small universe because lo and behold, there is indeed life outside of welfare checks, baby daddy drama, Gucci shades, and Lil Wayne. So don’t at look me crazy when I shut down FaceBook and have a chocolate latte mocha while listening to Lacrimosa discussing existentialism as well as the systematic break of black society and… woah. My weirdness is showing again. This is why I hate socializing with people.


I hate waking up early on cold winter mornings, my bed is warm and my dreams are pleasant and I really, really hate waking up early in the morning and fighting the rush hour traffic and lying quite successfully to people when I smile and reply “Good morning!” when really I want to say, “Fuck you and your good morning.”


I hate exercising and I don’t even attempt it even though everyone is running around screaming high blood pressure and diabetes and looking good in skinny jeans and twerking flat asses as if that shit looks good. Yeah, I hate exercising cause I’m a lazy slob and I make no apologies and you can take your Yoplait, Special K, celery eating ass to hell  if you think you’ll make me feel guilty for sitting on my derrière watching my recorded episodes of American Idol. Cause I just pulled a damned 9-5, taking shit from both ends of the spectrum so I can be just over broke; slave to the almighty dollar. Saying please and thank you and I’m sorry and I’ll do my best to correct the problem and yes boss, sure boss, i’ll get right on that boss when all I really to want to say is, “Sorry bitch, you got what you paid for and you can’t have it your way today and no, dear, the customer is not always right.” And I want to say, “Fuck you and this job and these unrealistic expectations. If you think it can be done boss, then why the fuck aren’t you doing it?”  Exercise has never reduced the stress of trying to make that dollar; it has only made me tired after a tiring day.  So let me enjoy my vanilla milkshake with whipped cream while watching American Idol and wishing I was that skinny. I really hate exercising.


I hate buying groceries cause I can’t cook and then my refrigerator becomes a cesspool for fungus to grow and then I have to clean it out and I get pissed when I think about how much money I wasted grocery shopping because that’s what adults do but hell I can’t cook and I hate cleaning so I end up doubly pissed off and then no one wants to talk to me cause I’m not very nice when I’m in pissed off mood. I told you – there are a lot of things that I hate.


I hate the fact that when I love I love so damn hard it cripples me.


I hate the fact that I can’t recover from a broken heart quickly; that the pain just seems to linger on for days and months and years.


I hate the fact that falling out of loves puts me in this static state of existence. I can’t go forward and I can’t go backwards. I am simply stuck in the place I’ve been left, slowly trying to sew my heart back together. Except, I don’t know how to sew.


I hate the fact that I met you and I loved you and I got hurt by you and I still don’t know why. I still can’t tell you where we went wrong, how we fell apart. I compromised and it wasn’t good enough. I demanded and I was a bitch.  And I’m scratching my head because hell, I still don’t know what you want. Or rather, wanted.


I hate the fact that I’m still bothered by this while you have moved on and I’m even more hateful of the people who bounce back from a broken-heart like it’s nothing else at all; a simple scrape. Throw a bit of Neosporin on it, put a band-aide over it, and shove those happy memories to back of your mind, lock in a safe and forget the combination. And now I look up and you’re smiling and happy and I’m still miserable and somehow this shit don’t seem fair cause this means that I must have been the only that gave a damn. Goddamn.


There a lot of things that I hate.

Author: Raymonda

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