I Hate Me

I hate my body.
I hate that when I look in the mirror I find all the imperfections I was looking for.
I hate that the bones I could feel a month ago can no longer be felt.
I hate that the only thing that I can let go is myself.

I hate my mind.
I hate that the memories most easy to retrieve are those I am ashamed of.
I hate that I want to be the best that I know I can never be.
I hate that there are no words for having no words.

I hate my heart.
I hate that me wanting to be giving might be me wanting not to be forgotten.
I hate that everywhere I look I am surrounded by “almosts”.
I hate that I can no longer claim to know what love is.

I hate that I am tired.
I am tired of hating.

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