She was like my mother, self-loathing and sad,
Comparing herself to others, and always feeling bad,
Taking out her aggression on yard waste, alone.
I saw my lover as my mother, unconsciously. Groan.
She was sweet and friendly at first—
I fell in love; it was too late.
For the soul that loves this is the worst:
To fall in love with hate.
Everyone’s heart is a house.
She took me to her house
But left me at the gate.
She was sweet and friendly at first.
I fell in love with hate.
By the time I got to know her
Oh God! It was too late.
I was madly in love,
Madly in love with hate.
She had secrets, secrets galore.
Hateful secrets. Which made me love her more.
Hate can be loved, and once love begins,
It will love hate forever.
Love simply loves. And the world thinks it sins.
For one who loves love, this was an unkind fate.
To love only love—then fall in love with hate.
It is sad to be hateful; I don’t sympathize with hate.
I don’t wish to describe her this way. Ah, but now it is too late.
Love is normally patient, but not when love loves hate.
She had nothing else to do. And so she made me wait.
She was like my mother, worrisome and sad,
Comparing herself to others, and always feeling bad,
Taking out her aggression on yard waste, alone.
And then she wrote me angry messages on the phone.
She took me to the house and left me at the gate.
She was sweet and friendly at first.
Then we kissed. I discovered my fate:
To love her. To love her. To love hate.
