Hates

I hate the way you

put your hands on my

face and mash my cheeks

together. I’m 18, I

may be short, but I

require respect.

When you walk behind

me and step on my

shoes. I hate that too.

I actually love my shoes.

Remember that time you

undid my bra? That pissed

me off. Thanks to that I’m

paranoid about the people

behind me.

I hate it when you

talk about me like I’m

a “thing.” I’m a living person

with real feelings.

I especially hated it when

you kept touching my boobs.

Thanks to you, my future

boyfriends will wonder why

I don’t react to their touch.

I hate it when you say that

you could beat me in a fight.

Don’t judge based off of

height and intelligence. I have

true strength; I know not to

go throwing my weight around.

Shakespeare once said

that, “the pen is mightier

than the sword.”

So, here I am showing

my true strength.

No punches or blood

shown. Just pure guts.

Here I am, not crying;

or yelling. Just simply

writing.

I question myself why

I have forgiven you.

You should be counting

your lucky stars, I

rarely give second chances.