I hate you.

I hate what you’ve done to me.

I hate that you made me leave you.

I hate that you moved on.

I hate that I blame you still.

I hate that because of you I sleep with one eye open.  That because of you every room in my home has a knife, or hammer, or escape route.

I hate that our sons hands look so much like yours.  That our daughters desire for attention resembles your neediness.

I hate that you never learned to take responsibility.

I hate that I still wonder about you.

I hate that our children don’t have you but you decided to go have another child.

I hate when another child mentions their father our kids change the subject.

I hate how you expected me to throw this all under the rug to be there for you.

I hate the way you look.  The way you smile.  The arrogance you portray.  

I hate that I cannot get over this fear that you put in me.

I hate knowing that one day I will have to face you.  That one day our kids will want to know where you are.  Who you are.  What you do.  Why you couldn’t be in there life.  

I hate that you will blame me.

I hate you so much for that.


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