Poems

Crazed, Hatred.

Crazed, Hatred.

By: Clara Cecilia Cordero

                                                                                                                                   May 07, 2014

Hate me or love me; agree with me or disagree, I don't really care I don't really mind.

I'm becoming crazier by the second I step on campus. I want to leave everything and run away. I hate the future I'm pre writing for myself. I hate feeling stuck and I hate dragging people with me. Frustration, anger and hate. I don't want to deal with. I don't want to, I hate it. Not knowing what home is or where it should be. 

I want to run away from this place to somewhere I'm not myself, or where I become who I'm truly destined to be. I love some things, some people, some moments. I hate the rest. I hate this; I hate poetry I hate what writes who I am. I hate how easy words come and how memories hurt.

I am not sorry for the mistakes I've done, I am sorry for making you deal with it.

They lie. They cheat. They don't know who I truly am. You don't know me, don't take me for granted. Cause even at my most honest moment I was putting you first. I let you see my smile; I let you see my tears. But I never let you see my rage.

I hate how easy words can make you feel inspired, sad, happy, emotional, and angry; but mostly I hate how words can describe every inch of me and every corner of my soul. I hate, I laugh, I cry, I smile. But all is a façade and behind all of them hides the rage.

I hate the future I’m pre writing for myself. I hate feeling stuck and I hate dragging people with me. Frustration, anger and hate. I don’t want to deal with it. I don’t want to, I hate it. I don’t know what or where’s home, but I’m not seeking it either.

Hating the hate I have inside, hating the rage that rages inside, hating the pain that hurts inside. Hating. Hating. Hating. Hating. I don’t care. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. I don’t mind. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. After all… something has to drive me.