The Self, On Itself

by Mighty Aphrodite

Published January 11, 2006

I hate her.
I hate the way she thinks, rethinks,
thinks again without stopping,
pounding through my brain
like a restless tornado tearing
through Oklahoma farmland barns.

I hate the way she loves:
too deeply, too strongly, too forgiving—
I hate it when it hurts,
grabs her like a serial rapist,
throws her in the gutter.

I hate how she cries so much
in melted-diamond tears.
I want her to sparkle like that.
I hate how she doesn’t.

I hate how her soul
is sixteen different colors:
jade and turquoise,
sapphire-blue. The brightest
is violent red blaring through.

I hate her instability,
lack of courage, overwhelming fear
of the darkness that won’t
leave her alone.
I hate the way she hates me,
pushes me away—
drowning out my screams
and taunts until I’m thrown
into the recesses
of her twisted-corridor mind.

I hate her.
But I’ll creep back
To invade her complicated
crystalline thoughts.
I always do.


~written for an assignment in a writing workshop class.

Comments & reviews · 2
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backgroundbob
Comment
backgroundbob commented Comment · Jan 12, 2006

The title is awkward. I'd suggest "Self on Self," perhaps.

Apart from that.. the imagery is pretty good, but I'm not a fan of the repeated "hates." I reckon you could come up with a more original way to start each stanza.

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Elizabeth
Review
Elizabeth wrote a review Review · Jan 11, 2006

heh, surprisngly I am surprised this wasn't written in hate... it reminded me of somebody I used to hate, now we're friends... although she is annoying. This was really great poem, I loved this especially:

I hate how she cries so much
in melted-diamond tears.
I want her to sparkle like that.
I hate how she doesn’t.

Keep up the good work!



Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts.
— Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind