I do not hate you.
I hate the mask you wear; your eyes
betray the hidden depths
that you possess, drawing me
into the hollow contrivance; this
your portraiture of perfection.
I do not hate you.
I hate your words; saccharine sweet,
sticky with sex
that oozes between the cracks, sealing me
against the raging rivers red; those
that cut.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem