I hate the way you talk to me. And the way you cut your hair.
I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare.
I hate your big dumb combat boots. And the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme.
I hate the way you’re always right. I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry.
I hate it that you’re not around. And the fact that you didn’t call.
But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not any at all.
