Tuesday, 6 December 2011

Hate Poem

Hate Poem
By Julie Sheehan
I hate you truly. Truly I do.
Everything about me hates everything about you.
The flick of my wrist hates you.
The way I hold my pencil hates you.
The sound made by my tiniest bones were they trapped in the
   jaws of a moray eel hates you.
Each corpuscle singing in its capillary hates you.
Look out! Fore! I hate you.
The blue-green speck of sock lint I’m trying to dig from
   under my third toenail, left foot, hates you.
The history of this keychain hates you.
My sigh in the background as you pick out the cashews hates you.
The goldfish of my genius hates you.
My aorta hates you. Also my ancestors.
A closed window is both a closed window and an obvious
   symbol of how I hate you.
My voice curt as a hairshirt: hate.
My hesitation when you invite me for a drive: hate.
My pleasant “good morning”: hate.
You know how when I’m sleepy I nuzzle my head under your
   arm? Hate.
The whites of my target-eyes articulate hate. My wit practices it.
My breasts relaxing in their holster from morning to night hate you.
Layers of hate, a parfait.
Hours after our latest row, brandishing the sharp glee of hate,
I dissect you cell by cell, so that I might hate each one
   individually and at leisure.
My lungs, duplicitous twins, expand with the utter validity of
   my hate, which can never have enough of you,
Breathlessly, like two idealists in a broken submarine.


  1. Ah, but so beautifully described.

    Are you sure you've never ever felt like that? Where every motion, every simple word that passes your lips, every exaggeratedly polite action is charged and crackling?

    "Breathlessly, like two idealists in a broken submarine"

    I think she's writing not so much of hate, as of anger. The anger you nurture and enjoy, for a while, before you realise just how misplaced and futile it is, before you learn to laugh at yourself.

  2. "the goldfish of my genius hates you."

    Damn. I so wish I could write lines like that.

  3. I've been known to hate like that a time or two .... all the passion and fury. First the lightening, then the thunder, then the downpour drenching everyone about me .....then - it passes. And laughter returns.

    The last line is the best line.

    But I also like The blue-green speck of sock lint I'm trying to dig from under my third toenail, left foot, hates you. I'm writing that one down to use next time I hate you.


  4. I've been known to hate hate poems. If they are really long.

  5. This one wasn't too long though.

    I see my upcoming word verification letters are "ballado" and, as always, I try to imagine what that word means. Is "ballado" just Spanish for "ballad"? Or is it a Spanish man who's occupation is ball kicker? No, I suppose that would be a balladero.


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