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Free write 3/17/18

Hate

Hate is when you don’t know what to do

Because you are so blinded by rage

When you get to 52

But you feel like you are on the first page

It where you lost your engagement ring

At his kitchen sink

Or where you are afraid to sing

Aloud at the ice skating rink

It’s how you hold your breath

At the sound of his voice

Or how you despise death

Because you are jealous of its poise

It’s who you want to be with

In the back of your mind

It’s who should have been the fifth

Of those you rank as kind

Hate is what you don’t want to admit

That you were looking for

It’s when he creates your limits

And when he takes it out on the kitchen door

 

 

Free write 3/17/18

The other night I took a walk down the nearest busy street of where I used to live, in Lincoln Park.  I went out to eat at a place after it got dark.  The part of Lincoln Park I used to live in was relatively safe- Clark Street is full of small places to eat and to shop.  It was around that time that I started to make enemies with the people that I used to call my friends.  And they were very hostile towards me and what they think I am.  They started to hate me because they don’t know what happened after I left school and went to the mental hospital- they think that the good part of me died and that I turned into a bad person- one of the other them.  The other them, who are the kids who hate me’s enemy.  The people that started to hate me, a lot of them, maybe half, don’t have a soul.  Honestly, I’m not being melodramatic.  They are like that because they are damned and in a past life the ultimate evil, I think they are a way of keeping the new ultimate evil on the downlow.  Anyways, that night, among others, I think- they were hostile.  One of them, the French one who is a doctor, and who I remember being a short kid with an acne problem, threw a beer bottle out of a car window, one night when they were stalking me, and yelled out an obscenity- one that I dare not mention- but he said it to mock me, in the way that I talk, to make me look insufficient to him and his friends’ standards.  And then another night, that one’s best friend drove by me with something in his trunk- so that the trunk was so full that to door couldn’t close all the way, so that whatever was in it was bouncing.  This seemed so odd to me that it made me wonder if I was hallucinating.  It also made me think, I remember, that he did it, or was thinking of doing it to mock me.  Something similar happened during the day when I was starting out on a walk and I saw the one that hated me the most, (maybe the other one that hated me that way was the Swedish one that would sometimes mock me also, making fun of me) and in the trunk of his bright red car a coffee table was in it, the same way that there was something in the other one’s trunk- and it was a coffee table kind of hanging out- and it made me wonder if I was hallucinating because it was such an odd sight.  I guess obscenities and the doubting of the real can go along with hate- but this hate was almost not real- to me.

DRAFT: This module has unpublished changes.