Love and Hate

I like you but I hate me,
so let’s hang out and maybe see if I stop.
I’m so scared of hurting you
with pain that I’ve been fighting through,
but, darling, I’m not glass for you to drop.

I’d warn you off, tell you to run,
but, god, this flirting thing is fun,
and my heart knows you’re not the one,
but you could be.
I’ve got tears, and you’ve got time,
and breaking hearts is not a crime,
but it should be.

I miss myself more than I miss him,
and you seem sweet and full of sin,
but the good kind.
And I’ve been hurt, and I’ve known pain,
and there’s conflict seeping like a stain,
but enough about my mind.
Tonight, there’s you, and you will do,
and I’ve told myself this through and through:
this one is kind.

I like you, and you love me,
but I will never truly see why you don’t just run;
I’m always scared today’s the day you’ll see what lurks beyond the fun.

A love like mine is rare enough,
it’s tinged with pain and awful stuff.
If you wanted blood and sacrifice, I could delve deep,
but if you don’t mind, sweet simple soul, could we just sleep?

I can’t promise I will dream of you,
I’ll dream of him like I always do and cry his name,
but when I wake I’ll find your arms and heal again.

I had you and thought I’d won,
thought healing arms and having fun were quite enough,
and I was done with love and hate.
But poyums are like fields unplowed;
a wedding dress can be a shroud
if words unsaid are spoke aloud,
so still I wait.

I don’t hate you; I have no time
to waste on interests which decline.
I take my pain and make it rhyme.
And now I see – the one deserving of my love
was always me.