I think everyone hates something about themselves at one period or another in time. This doesn't mean that they abuse themselves or scream 'Woe is me' aloud. It just often makes a good poem, no harm in exploiting your feelings, right?



my mind is wandering
but there is no telling where it will lead
in hope and despair I stew and seethe
The darkest hour hems me in
and all I see are what might have beens
terrible tragedy follows me everywhere I go
where-ever I walk, it does follow
And the darkest hour falls upon my woes
In comes happiness, but out, trouble goes
A weaving plague, a nasty thing
Like hope, tethered on a string
In my flesh, I hammer the nails
Biting at courage, but my strength fails
Martyr I cannot compare
Not saints nor angels grace the air
The glass shards that once was my iron will
drifts in banks of crystal swill
tasteless passion and empty kiss
somewhere a connection missed
Daggers mare my time line here
And dangers that are mine to fear
I wallow in my loathsome state
Sadly enough it is me I've grown to hate
I hate the way I hate my self
I hate the way my emotions are wealth
I hate my beauty and my amber eyes
And my smile, it I have grown to despise
My hate is targeted on something I cannot change
Others ability to see my beauty that is caged

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