i hate.............

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 when 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 even at all.

Here is a poem written by Aubrey Mauger :) When You Write

Does it seem ever so sweet when those
words you claim to feel spill onto this
tethered wheel, while it spins round and round.
do you claim to keep your brace. are your
feet planted on the ground. Cause i seem
to feel a conspiracy every time your eyes seem
to meet with me.

When you write these words
do they seem to make you feel
like your moving closer to me
like your sealing the deal.
When this pen hits a page
does it scream out my name.
the poetic motions flowing
like the last seconds in a game.

Does it seem to be a fit when your
sitting all alone reaching for the telephone
Hoping that you'll hear it sing, with the
sweetest of songs crying out the melody.
That seems to captivate your heart.
but the things I said to you seemed to have
broken you apart.

When you write these words
do they seem to make you feel
like your moving closer to me
like your sealing the deal.
When this pen hits a page
does it scream out my name.
the poetic motions flowing
like the last seconds in a game.

When you write these words
do they seem to make you feel
like your moving closer to me
like your sealing the deal.
When this pen hits a page
does it scream out my name.
the poetic motions flowing
like the last seconds in a game.

It was a long way down.
and we never spoke again.
But the way you took it in
Seemed the pen was your only friend.
and these pages stack
towards the one you carry dear.
But shes long gone now
and that the sad truth you fear.
In this growing cold,
lonely looking place.
there is a single shred of hope
still lingering on your face.
its controlling those actions
that seem to write down words.
its the inspiration thats fighting to be heard.

When you write these words
do they seem to make you feel
like your moving closer to me
like your sealing the deal.
When this pen hits a page
does it scream out my name.
the poetic motions flowing
like the last seconds in a game.