hate
visceral hate
claw with talons
sunk deep into soft belly
tighter and tighter
agony ripples outward
no room left for breath
hate is pain
extending
to the ends of each finger and each toe
energy pulsing then ebbing
into agonizing apathy
hate is a spring
welling up out of ones wounded soul
its reservoirs deep in places
never quite healed though you tried
God knows you tried
is it hate that destroys, or the one who
wounds to begin with?
the one supposedly listening but never changing
one who is always sorry and
will do better next time?
hate is a volcano
wounds find their voice
explode
destroy all
shame
and blame
and condemnation
then
pressure gone
time slips by
a clean slate
rebirth
new life
I have found
to my great dismay
contrary to all I have been told,
all I want to believe,
hate is power
PS
Do I believe this in my core? No. But I do believe hate gives power to keep going when the ability to love or forgive or understand or withstand, seems nonexistent. I have clung to hate when I needed to stay afloat on a sea of despair. When I wrote this it was the only thing flowing from my heart to my pen, all other emotions were drowning. The release I found in putting the ugly honesty of it on paper, was healing.
Maybe, (I am putting a good spin on this so you won't think so badly of me), maybe hate is a placeholder for love at the opposite end of the journey. The courage to embrace hate creates a path to love, if you don't give up.
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