I hate the way you talk down to me,
the shabby cloths you wear.
I hate the way you pass the blame,
and when you say you care.
I hate it every time you smoke,
and talk about the past.
I hate it when you call me names,
it's never meant to last.
I hate it when you change your mind,
and all the games you play,
you never take me anywhere,
no further than the bay.
I hate the way you let me leave,
you never even tried.
I hate the way you laze around,
you swear that someone's died.
But in truth I don't hate you,
I don't hate you one bit.
All I've done is realise,
you're just a selfish git.
May 2010
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem