Myself Hate Poems

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...

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- always broke
- always do something wrong
- always say the wrong things
- always treat people bad
- always sick and tired of everything
- always mean
- always...

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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,...

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I just hope time doesn’t hate me too, doesn’t judge me for the moments wasted,
I never meant to waste the seconds, to let them slip...

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I just hope time doesn't hate me too,
I never meant to waste it, I swear I didn't,
I was just tired, tired of carrying silence like...

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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...

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Written: May 17, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Michael Fulkerson

Quote: “Do good to the people for the sake of God or for the peace of...

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Hate is a sharp inheritance.
I did not ask for it.
It grew in me like a second skeleton—
not born, but built
in the blue-lit silence after fists,
in...

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I walk through life like a shadow unseen,  
Because they treat me like I’ve never been.  
No chains can bind me, no laws...

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Art & music therapy 
provides a creative outlet 
for expressing feelings of anxiety, 
helping us visualize  
process our worries
I also find poetry
therapy as well...

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People may think that
 They know who this poem is about

But they don’t,
And they never will.

I’ve met this boy.
I haven’t known him long.
But it feels...

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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,...

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You asked, "out of everyone, why me?"
I know the answer now, maybe.

They come to me, drawn in
by the way I’ve been existing. 
They compliment the...

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I used to slit my arms open like I was peeling fruit—careful, slow, watching the skin give way like wet paper. The box cutter blade...

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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...

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