Her

Each time i speak about her, they tell me to show more respect.

See I don’t hate her,

I despise the cruel being within her,

Unleashing its wrath upon my broken heart.

See, I don’t hate her,

I am saddened by the constant reminder of my flaws,

Judged withing the place I supposedly call home.

See, I don’t hate her,

I hate the scars she doesn’t see caused by her very being,

The inattentive soul unable to see me scream.

You may not believe these uttered words,

Little do you truly know about what goes on behind my smile.

Before you say I am exaggerating, as yourself, “what possibly triggers her anxiety.”

Ps: I don’t hate her…