Myself Hate Poems | Examples
These Myself Hate poems are examples of Hate poems about Myself. These are the best examples of Hate Myself poems written by international poets.
Been walking towards the moon.
I won't be getting there soon
Following to wherever it may lead
Beyond greed
Beyond the need of strife
A simple life
I seek to find
Hate left behind
A heart so kind
Cause I feel the need
Of a soul freed
Sailing through the sky
Thought I could fly
At least I could try
My heart let me down
I refused to drown
I choose
Not to break loose
Keeping myself grounded
It sounded
Reasonable at the time
Living lost in some rhythm
No tear shall I cry
As time passes bye
From young to old
My body starts to fold
Still, I follow the light
It burns so bright
Never letting it go
Basking in its glow
Cause I know
As long as I live
There's so much left to give
Can't say nope
I keep holding on to hope
It's my only rope
Facing each day
Following the way
Closer than ever before
Towards my time to soar
A heart set free
The peace that be
Tomorrow
No sorrow
Made my way
Through each day
Sometimes,
In some rhythms
It takes two
The heart so true
Lost in some yesteryear
I got past the tears
Even on my own
Remembering all I was shown
My heart has grown
I know today
love is the only way
Every snip feels off.
I stare at my own hair.
The sides are sharp today.
The top does not feel right.
I run my fingers through.
It is different, maybe odd.
I pause, not sure I like it.
I hope it grows on me.
Maybe they will like it.
It could be a better look.
Could even catch some smiles.
The girls might notice too.
The mirror feels more kind.
The cut starts to take shape.
Maybe it just needs time.
It might be working out.
I take a breath, step back.
Maybe it is bold, maybe fun.
A quiet pat on my back.
Light catches every line.
I let myself smile a little.
It may be different, but I like it.
I own this change, I own the cut.
It feels good, it feels like me.
I walk away with a small grin.
Feeling good about what I see.
Different, yes, but bold.
I like this new cut on me.
I hate the way you looked into my eyes.
I hate the way you rubbed my feet when we made love.
I hate how you smelled.
I hate that you were married.
I hate that you have children.
I hate that you held me in your arms like i was the only woman in the world.
I hate how you took me to fancy restaurants.
I hate how you opened my doors.
I hate how you watched me play the piano.
I hate how you touched me.
I hate how you kissed me.
I hate your secrets.
I hate your alter-ego.
I hate that you raped me.
I hate how you gaslight.
I hate how you told me you loved me.
I hate your wife.
I hate your status.
I hate the car you drive.
I hate how beautiful you were.
I hate your taste in music.
I hate your mind games.
I hate our connection.
I hate that you left me.
I hate myself.
I hate that we were soul mates.
I hate how I loved you.
I hate what you took from me.
I hate the world.
I hate the people in it.
I hate you reading this.
“what hurt the most?”, he asked.
Struggling to hold back the tears that were threatening to resurface I replied,
“I’m not sure but, maybe it’s the fact that you didn’t hurt as much as I did,
You were not the one churning through each of our memories late at night and wondering where it all went wrong,
you were not the one crying yourself to sleep at night,
you were not the one whose heart was utterly shattered by the simplest actions.
Or maybe it’s the fact that I could never bring myself to tell you the real reason why we grew apart,
Or the fact that I had to tear my eyes away from that face of yours I would long to see all day long,
Or the fact that I lost one of the people who felt like home to me,
Maybe I miss the familiarity,
The easiness of it all.
But what hurt the most is the realization that I will never love someone like I loved you,
Yet couldn’t do the most mere of actions when I would’ve given you the world had you asked for it.
This goodbye is bittersweet but I hope it is the end because I refuse to toil like this without acknowledgement and there is nothing left in me that you have possibly not taken already.
So that is what hurt the most”
I ended
The one I would've taken a bullet for
Was the one behind the trigger
But here's the thing about betrayal
It never comes from your enemies
And what's even sadder is
I don't blame you for hurting me
I blame myself for thinking you wouldn't
I trusted you
But I know your words and promises meant nothing
Because your actions spoke the truth
I told you what hurts me the most...
And you did it perfectly
Raw, unfiltered anger, it’s all that I know. Constantly
Aggravated by worthless pieces of scum that I struggle
Getting off of my shoes. A nasty glare, a hostile retort,
Everything and anything can, and will, fan the flame.
After the infliction, what happens then? A swelling, a vicious,
Nasty swelling in the throat. A horrible torrent of flames threatens to
Destroy all in its path. Words of pure venom threaten to spew out.
Harrowing to myself and others, I know this to be so. But, like a sore
Affliction or rash, it never truly dissipates. It only subsides, a dormant ember
That flickers in the inky darkness until some ignorant cretin ignites it again.
Red, red, red! Blinding, sizzling-hot red is all I see. Pure and unfiltered
Evil that only cares for spreading vile hatred and destruction. Suddenly, the
Devil is fatigued. It sinks into the abyss, dormant. But not for long.
- always broke
- always do something wrong
- always say the wrong things
- always treat people bad
- always sick and tired of everything
- always mean
- always irritable
- always suck
- always tired
- always sick of everything
- always try
- always whatever
- always ruin things
- always make people feel bad
- always forever
- always sick
- always don’t care
- always irritate
- always care
- always change
- always complain
- always believe
- always change things
- always change people
- always the believer
- always shute myself
- always say
- always dream
- always faraway
- always of determination
- always a moron
- always
The serpent's hiss, a venomous dart,
Is honest hate, a tear right to the heart.
But you, you whisper honeyed lies so sweet,
A camouflage, a cunning, cruel deceit.
You smile so wide, a painted mask of care,
While in your eyes, a chilling, vacant stare.
You pat my back, you offer words of praise,
And plant the seeds of doubt in countless ways.
The open foe, I know where they will strike,
Their hatred burns, a flickering, harsh light. I brace myself,
I steel against the blow, at least their malice, I can surely know.
But you, dear friend, are a viper in disguise,
Your poison spreads beneath my very skies.
You bleed me slowly, with a gentle touch,
A double-faced betrayer that's what you are.
You're the worst kind of hater, who likes to stay hidden behind closed walls,
You whisper made stories that should never be told.
I rather have an honest hater, though bitter, they are still truer, than hollow love, projected false by you.
I take the blade
like a sculptor takes his chisel—
not for art,
but for erasure.
Skin is too quiet.
It wears my face like a mask I never chose.
So I slice,
deep enough to silence it,
to watch it speak in red.
Each cut a sentence.
Each bruise a thought I couldn't hold.
I dig through muscle and memory
trying to find what part of me
deserves forgiveness—
but all I find is rot.
Nails tear at the surface
when the blade dulls.
Teeth, fists, anything
to feel my hatred echo
through blood.
This is not performance.
This is penance.
This is punishment for waking up
in a body I never asked for.
They say:
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
As if it’s hurt.
As if it’s not relief
to open myself
and let the poison breathe.
I mutilate
because I can’t kill
what’s inside.
So I tear down the walls
again
and again
and again.
Not to die—
but to make the pain visible.
To show the world
what it did to me.
To make it real.
To make me real.
If only for a moment
before the blood dries
and the shame returns
wearing my name like a crown.
I walk through life like a shadow unseen,
Because they treat me like I’ve never been.
No chains can bind me, no laws confine,
Yet they whisper doubts as if they’re mine.
Why do you fear the faith I hold?
Why does my truth leave hearts so cold?
Is it my wisdom that shakes your ground,
Or the strength in me that won’t bow down?
I have seen the darkest nights unfold,
Where silence screams and hate takes hold.
Yet through the storm, I stand unbowed,
Resilient still, never cowed.
Through the veil of hate, I stride,
Unfazed by scorn, untouched by pride.
For in the fire, I forge my way,
And rise anew with each new day.
Where harmony hoards the supposed hurt,
Symphonies belie me.
I rein myself in to not be curt,
But noise surrounds me.
Where time heals the freshly toiling,
I have old, murky bloodstains
Yet no one sees how quietly I'm boiling
Until the tipping point I shall hide my pains.
Why such a discordance in my disposition?
I desire to mourn the impact of this tyranny
Is this prophetic or an imposition? It's difficult to overlook the irony.
Someday I will explode, not implode
A magnetic, magnificent starburst.
For now, continue, continue to goad,
But this cacophony will not halt my bloodthirst.
I have this little secret.
It lives in the back of my head
It tells me over and over
I'd be better off if I were dead.
It rumbles around inside
And consumes my every thought
It tells me over and over
Life would be better if I were not.
There are times that I agree
Times that I'm unsure
At times I push it down
Other times I just endure.
This little secret in my brain
This haunting little thing
It makes me hate myself
It makes me hate everything.
She hurt me
So don’t try to convince me that
She was a genuine friend
Because at the end of the day
my heart twists in anguish
And I’m not going to sugar coat it,
I’m the one that cut her off
I have to remind myself,
No one can be trusted
And nothing you say will make me believe
Everyone deserves a second chance
Because no matter what
People will always let me down
And I'm in no position to believe that
if I extend my trust it won’t be broken
Because whenever I want to make friends I think
Is friendship even worth it?
(Now read it backwards)
I am an innocent soul, by fate betrayed/
From God's embrace, my spirit swayed/
Every Church, a door now sealed/
In shadows dark, my fate revealed/
Through the Qliphoth's maze, I stumble on/
Occult's dark arts, a journey drawn/
Seeking truth where light is scarce/
In void and silent war/
From the hospitals cold embrace, I rose/
Survivor of many suicide attempts, life's cruel prose/
Doctors puzzled by my breath/
A testament defying death/
Among the beasts, I roam untamed/
In wildness found, my soul reclaimed/
Enlightenment through chaos wrought/
In flawlessness, no hate is caught/
A Phoenix from the ashes formed/
By unjust hate, of the falsely accused, no longer torn/
In flawless perfection, I ascend/
Where peace and pain transcend/
Hate you?
No, I don’t hate you.
I just hate who I become around you—
Desperate for your attention,
twisting cruelty into affection.
Because who am I if you don’t know me?
If you haven’t spent sleepless nights
wondering why I’m such a to you?
You hating me
is better than you forgetting me.
At least then, I exist—
etched into your tortured screams,
a whisper in shattered glass,
scraping against a dull chalkboard.
Yes, it hurts—
but not as much as being ignored.
Vengeful eyes burn into mine.
I don’t want to be this way,
but I’ve forgotten any other way to be.
Be kind? Be soft?
Sounds simple, right?
No.
Not when I don’t remember how.
I spent so long teaching myself to hate you
that I forgot how to love you.