2/15/14
I hate so much that you do, I truly hate it. How nothing means a fucking thing. I hate that you yell at your mom like you don’t give a shit. I hate seeing your phone light up with an “I love you” text from your dad and you leaving it unopened. I hate how you do so many stupid things without seeing the stupidity in it. I hate that you tell me to calm down and say everybody is like this. Like I’m not special, like it’s completely normal to hate all of myself. I hate how I feel mediocre, lackluster and so incredibly far from your ideals. I hate that I care. I hate that you hurt me. I hate that I cry so often about it all. I hate that I crave your comfort for that bad things you do to me.

2/15/14
You don’t realize all that I’m going through. If I talk to you with a “tone” it’s because I’m about to go in my room and cry. If I am being rude, it’s because I just looked at myself in the mirror and hated every second of it. If I’m being sassy it’s because I have no fucking idea what I’m doing with my life. If you don’t appreciate the way I talk to you it’s because I stayed up all night sobbing, holding an earring in my hand and hating the fact that it didn’t pierce my skin. I can’t wait to tell you someday that all those times you yelled at me I was dying inside.