Halves

It's the stupid little things that make me hate you.

---

I would tell you this if I could, that I don't care that you're the golden boy and way out of my league. I don't care that people love you – because you're so perfect – when they could be so harsh to us lower denizens. It doesn't bother me that even if it's a poor country you get to drive in a big shiny car.

I care, when it starts to contribute to air pollution. I care, because you know how to drive at all.

---

I would tell you this if I could, that I don't care that you've a reputation as a slut. I don't care that you walk around like the rules applied to you – because you're free – while the rest of us keep order. It doesn't disturb me that you hang with a fast crowd – it's your life, after all – most nights.

I care, about the cigarette stains on your fingers. I care, when you sleep in class the morning after.

---

You know how you just, you know, look away when your friends or whichever girlfriend you have this week say something about me. I've noticed, don't think I didn't, and it hurts.

---

Remember after the math tests? The way you always look to me after receiving your paper – I know you're some kind of genius already, geez, you don't use it anyway – like everything always has to be a competition? It makes me feel godawful bad.

---

I hate that you have new shoes every month. I have to stop hiding them.

---

I hate the color of your hair when it's wet. Get an umbrella already.

---

I hate the way you hold your head up, and smile like you mean it. Ratface.

---

I hate the way you try too hard to be liked. No one likes you, okay? Okay.

---

I hate that I gag on words around you, makes me feel stupid.

---

I hate that I sometimes stare at you, like I'm looking for something I wish wasn't there.

---

I hate your eyes.

---

I hate your eyes.

---

I don't like how sometimes I wish I'd be able to smile at you in the hallways, without gritting my teeth. You're really nice it makes me wonder who you got it from. It hurts when I can't.

---

I don't like how sometimes – like when that bast– I mean, jerk left you – I'd wanted to ask if you were okay. I know you're tough (I know whom you got it from). It hurts when I don't.

---

All in all, I don't really hate that you're half my brother, whom he chose to love. That'd be silly. It's just these stupid, little things.

---

All in all, I don't really hate that you're half my sister, the illegitimate trashbaby. That's amazingly dimwitted. It's just these stupid, little things.

---

End.