Day 4: NaPoMo 30 Thoughts in 30 Days

Hate

I know what it is
to be hated.
Hated at length by someone
I never knew long ago.
Without pause or pretense
because I chose differently
than a dog would.
If fists loosen,
a sucker punch
steals my breath
My naive smile falls prey
to scarlet spit in my face
enough to ruin my favorite shoes;
the canvas wedges
I wore when I left.
My strut grows shorter
til i just stand.
Hate endures from
knickers to head stones
and makes impossible the notion
of yes or rest.

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