My Father Hates Me

I am not complaining. Not that you would hear me Even if I did. But; My father hates me. I am not a story teller, And I am no poet. You can be sure of what I tell you. Passionately, My father hates me. One winter night he burned my blanket With the stub of his cigar. He was not remorseful. Because, My father hates me. One Christmas he gifted me a calendar of the previous year Because he thought it had beautiful flowers. To this day I appreciate it. But it changes not that My father hates me. One day when I turned eighteen He thought I was old enough So he chased me from home. What father? My father hates me. Regardless, He says his love for me is beyond words. I know he could take a bullet for me. But, My father hates me. #StvnyPoetry