The Parts I Hated

I see myself sobbing
for doing the same insane things as before.
I curse myself
with these detrimental words until I fall asleep.

I am not comfortable with my knotty hair,
neither with the set of eyes I have,
neither with my pale complexion.

I procrastinate a lot because
I know things will never get done though I have it started.
Thus, I am not trusting myself with these responsibilities.
This makes me want to stare at the moon
and have a conversation with it instead.

I hate myself doing commitment.
I don’t like myself surrounded with people
whom I get to envy with,
as if myself is a huge filter
but only remains there are pieces of self-pity and self-hatred.

I limit myself with thinking happy thoughts
but ended up condemning the last optimist part of me.
Putting it into a jar and celebrating its last breathing.

I am despotic.
My mind is polluted with every cruelty
this universe could offer.
I can recite the ABC of selfishness.
I can sing the melody of stubbornness
in perfect harmony.

I hate that I need to please people
and show them my worth –
like a theater audition,
I’ll do whatever you would want me to do,
I’ll go wherever you’ll go.
Am I a dog to you?

I displease myself when I’m obsessed with someone.
As if you are my favorite person
whom I need to choose every day.
That I keep myself imagining the two of us
like those romantic shits
from the books I am reading.
That we could create our story
and you will be my favorite genre.

I displease myself when I’m obsessed with someone.
That I am so sick of hiding my feelings.
That whenever you ignore me,
I create a thin line between pauses and delays.
That I want to wake myself up to this distortion I formed.
That it always ends asking myself
why am I attach to a person who doesn’t appreciate me at all?

I don’t like myself when I am compared to someone.
Or when I am jealous.
Or when I am in the least priority.
Silence could not just mean no.
Silence could also mean I am here
waiting for your eyes meet mine
because I also love to feel the need to be needed.

I dislike myself every time I feel longing.
Or every time I see your photos –
I create a vessel and fill that up
with memories of you:
that time when you hold my hand,
that time when you are laughing,
that time when you call me by my first name.

I am a predicament of nice things,
of fall shorts,
and in between.
I am short-tempered that I consume my present being.
Like a gasoline.
Like the last thing it can do now is to get my body burning
and to create an enormous dust
like a mass of ashes heaped together.
And I will write my favorite word to whatever left in there.

I hate that I am not perfect.
I hate that I am not that good enough.
I hate that I am the party
I don’t want to attend to.
And I hate myself taking part in this universe
only by existing.

I am Angelo from the Philippines. I am currently teaching Literature for high school students, and yes, I am in love with literature. I am newbie on this platform, doing blogs I mean, but I am kinda following your page and some other great creators so I can be improved as with the content and style. Hoping that I could write my very own novel one day. 🙂
Blog: https://thebookmarksentiments.wordpress.com/

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One thought on “The Parts I Hated

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