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.