I Hate Love

I hate love.


I hate the way it builds you up
just to leave you bleeding in the rubble.


The way it whispers promises
 then vanishes without a trace,


like you were never worth the trouble.

I hate the games,


the silence,


the betrayal wrapped in pretty lies.


One minute I’m your universe,
 the next, 
I’m just another name you scroll past
 with empty eyes.

Where do I stand?


Am I the secret you’re ashamed to name,
or the prize you claim
 when it fits your frame?

Am I a joke—


some twisted showcase of your power?


Or did I ever truly matter,
even for an hour?

You made me feel like I could breathe,
like maybe love was worth the risk.


But now I’m choking on belief
 that turned to ash upon your lips.

And yet...
God, I still want it.


Not the poison,

not the games—

but the kind that stays
 when it hurts, when it rains.


The kind that sees me wrecked and raw
 and still chooses to remain.

I want love that doesn’t flinch 
when I speak the darkest parts.


The kind that calls me home,
not just something to restart.

So yes—


I hate love.


I hate what it’s done to me.


But some broken part inside 
still aches for someone to truly see.

To take the mess, the scars, the fight— 
and say, "You’re still enough for me."

Because I still think…

Is it love or is it betrayal?