“How'd you die?” the therapist asked.
“I don't know," I said.
“Was it a car crash?”
“No, I don't own a car.”
“Was it self-inflicted doom?”
“No, I don't like heights or knives.”
“Was it one of your friends?”
“No, I don't have friends.”
“Was it your parents?”
“No, they're both in jail.”
“Was it your sister?”
“No, she left me, frail”
“Was it the old man you smiled at every morning?”
“No, he passed away with the jury deciding his hearing.”
“Was it-”
“How are you today?” I cut in, smiling,
But no answer came.
For the dry wall before me was never a therapist to acclaim.
If I were free, I wouldn't be.
I wouldn't be who—what I am right now.
I wouldn't be the miscreation I myself despised once
I wouldn't be the stain upon creation I am right now.
If I were free, I'd be six feet under the dirt.
The very dirt I once spurned would spurn me then.
For,I'd be their trespasser.
I adore
And you abhor
I love
And you loathe.
I love you forever
And you loathe me
Regardless of your demeanor
I will always show pity.
I love you with a passion
I adore you with devotion
Love is a panacea, a remedy.
I adore you and you abhor me
I love you and you loathe for no reasons and no grounds
Mind you, karma knows no seasons and no bounds
Copyright © October 2025 Hébert Logerie, all rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
Early October.
I accidentally came across your message,
I dare not open it, after it caught my eye "Police contacted. You..."
What did he try to prove?
End of September, a note was hand delivered direct to your letter box.
I did that to have a closure and
To show you for the first and last time,
I could also be in control of the situation.
I loved you so much, I did not exercise it in the past.
I let you enjoyed it, then you abused it.
I thoroughly checked with the Police,
My message was loud and clear,
To accept what you have requested.
Police assured me, it was fine to deliver,
Because it had no threat nor harassment either.
You only messaged to intimidate me further,
As you always did with the use of your language.
It was not long ago, I crafted on the apple's skins,
"We loved you, we loathe you, and we will forget you".
What have you done to my dear friend?
What did you do to Reach and Sent?
Please go away, leave me and my memories alone.
You have done enough to our relationship,
There was plenty of bitter and sweet.
Goodbye, good luck and good grief.
2024
Finally, New Year Eve has arrived.
I must be quick to make up my mind,
To delete, remove and let go of all the Apps he installed,
The things he said, the messages he sent, the words he wrote,
The happiness he created, the work he helped,
The troubles he made and the pain he caused.
Within a brief encountering of 6 months,
A fun filled relationship,
A sweet memorable friendship,
Turned to bitterness and nightmare.
My head said: remove, delete and quit.
My heart sank and cried no tears.
Nothing to say, to write or to hear.
Soon, apart, we all shall be happy.
That was what I hope at least.
What does he think? Nothing and nothing.
Zoom call “White Women” and “White Dudes” for Kamala raises millions.
What hypocrites you all are!
What next? Trannies and muslims and black dudes for Kamala?
Democrats love segregation. Always have.
Imagine the media if Donny held a White Dudes for Trump fundraiser?
How blind and dumb do you have to be? WTFU!
The freckles that dapple my face
are more than beauty spots,
marks of where barbaric sun
has kissed me
and left a small dot.
When the hours of darkness arrive,
I look up at the freckled sky
and fall in love with the universe.
I wonder what if all the freckles
living on my body
were actually stars,
stars that are muddy imprints of galaxies
that our eyes refuse to focus on!
There were days
when I was young
and they used to loathe the stars on my cheeks,
resembling the night sky
in July.
I would smile and answer back,"when I was born
the gods painted my face with a map of constellations,
and who doesn’t love
looking at the starry sky?”
Now that I’m all grown up, all I know is
a face without freckles is like
a night sky without stars!
How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways.
I loathe thee so that I throw up on sight
Of thee, and when my ire is at a height,
I grit my teeth and plot revenge for days.
My loathing for thee, cheater, takes its toll.
Thy empty claims of innocence, I scorn.
I caught thee thrice! My trust was from me torn.
To see thee broke and hungry is my goal.
I loathe thee with the passion I once spent
On sweet romance when I thought thee sublime.
I’d like to see thee living in a tent.
Indulge me as I tell thee one more time
I'd gladly pony up my last red cent
To have thee maimed if mugging weren’t a crime!
It’s pure as fresh snow
and as pale as a ghost.
It’s the shade on the light spectrum
that I loathe the most.
A beluga whale, the milky moon
and the aftermath of bleach
and all my body’s hidden places
just out of the sun’s reach.
It lies on unlined paper
and rests on decaying bones.
On a virginal wedding dress
in the trash, it should be thrown.
A fluffy marshmallow,
billowy clouds and certain rice
just add them to the growing list
of the hue that fails to entice.
I can’t stress this sentiment enough
this tint is truly beastly.
On baby powder, salt, and mayo,
the color white is not for me.
*I wrote this poem on April 6, 2021, as part of a ’30 days of poetry’ challenge. This was day 6 and the prompt was: Write a poem inspired by a color. It’s pretty obvious what color I choose from reading my poem, but if you are still stumped after you finish, reread the last line. Thanks, and as always, leave me some love.
I have issues with the sun
It burns
It burns so much these days
It burns it hurts my face
Yet I am going out now
Right into this traffic jam
Right when the sun is big and bright
Where is dawn?
What a mess I am
There is no such thing as a want in me
I rather tuck myself in my blankets as I wake
Shut the doors
Shut the window
Lock it all
And do nothing
And that's part of the reason I am late
That's why I am going out right into this traffic jam
Out to the doing of stuff
Out into engaging in mundane activities
For the mere chance of maybe sustaining thyself
Plus some maybe surplus
I put the same song on repeat
As I go out right into this traffic jam
I am such a miserable creature
And that's why I walk around with my head down
Self loathe
What bravery is needed to be me everyday
The worst thing is I am not so uncaring
But somehow I embrace the me that I know lacks
It's funny how even I am right in this traffic jam
I wish to just go out
And just go back home
I must detest one,
just the one, yes,
battle within myself
so that I can love the rest.
I use words and phrases
that hold my sense of conflict
so that my strict faith
may rest in my wish to love.
Our grip on love
may not exist; so let it not slip
into the wasteland of my mind -
a mind that holds so much conflict.
Are we born to create a passion
for a battle within ourselves?
Who can love
with no comparison with hatred?
So, yes, I do loathe one,
engender protest for one.
Am I to kill? I suspect not.
But hate? Oh yes, do hate.
(Sep 2022)
I loathe how I react;
Without even a touch
my pulse will be racing;
As I hear your soft voice
I fight with this feeling;
I loathe how I react,
the fact that I respond
with an internal moan;
Uncontrollable high,
left at war with hormones;
I loathe how I react;
Absolutely futile,
impossible to try
halt both sides and cease fire;
Never able to lie;
I loathe how I react;
So sensitive to this,
every moment is new;
Nothing else makes me feel
like being around you.
I am the queen of self destruction.
Ritualistic Razor sharp scrutiny of my reflection -
constantly spewing hate at my mid-section,
whilst effortlessly faking the pursuit of perfection.
A crumbled up heart beckons restitution in the midst
of train-wrecked relationships,
ruinous friendships,
and crumbled up to do lists,
in white-knuckled fists.
The essence of happiness remains a mere mirage
for one who is an expert in self-sabotage.
With nothing but empty reminders sprayed out on a dreary collage,
it is exhausting living an ever consuming facade.
Procrastinated plans worship at my feet,
whilst brooding and bellowing as I hit snooze on repeat.
Impatiently my ambitions take a seat,
before wisely declaring undeniable defeat.
Daily my mind’s army assumes a familiar avoidant stance.
Love and hate engage, again, in a repetitive dance,
between an avoidant retreat and a stagnant advance.
It is clear: as long as I sit on the throne of
self-destruction,
for me… for being whole..
there will not be another chance..
don't fall in love
Loving him in a romantic way
From a one way street till endless highways
Till he signaled no entry sign
I was a fool or maybe the luckiest of all
For some people,
That happens once in a lifetime
Or
For others,
They fall in love over and over again
How can he deny now
When I defend him then
'Whatever the cost'
What was the past, today
Where is the future, tomorrow
O honey!
You will never know
Cause he never knew what he had
And he never realized when he lost
Baby!!
"Don't fall in love"
"I can't lift you"
It's not everybody's game
They fall in love
Some rise in love
In their own personhood and love...
But
She fall in love deep down his feet;
don't fall in love!
don't fall in love.
Loathe to close my eyes
Petrified to have them open
Pain is never forgotten
Nightmares of visions I wish to forget
I sit day after day
Reliving it over and over
I reach for alcohol..to much alcohol...
Thinking I want to survive....
Wishing I was stronger
Able to overcome it
I'm a fool, I'm weak
Life full of despair
How could he do what he did
Sexual contact with her
Offering my body to him
I can't forget...I can't cope
This is not the first time
I've been a victim...
Victim suffering pain
Emotionally...physically...mentally
I have just drank down number seven...
I'm aware of all those pills in my purse
They call to me
With promises of no pain anymore
I hear it is painless
I pick them up...
Pour them into my hand
Toying with them...thinking
I wish to live the life
The life after this one
One free of pain
One full of love
I sit with my bottle
Pills in my hands
The frigid air bites at my nose,
As I step outside for a smoke;
The pristine snow fills my boots,
And I snuggle deeper into my cloak;
A foot and a half in the last two days,
To me it seems surreal;
An icy droplet hits my neck,
And I let out a startled squeal;
I silently curse this dratted snow,
That froze my water pipes;
When I said it out loud my husband complained,
“That all you can do, is gripe”
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