Let Me Just Say
I think I've always hated you. I remember in grade school, how you would
pull my pigtails and told everyone I had cooties. Even
the girls wouldn't talk to me after that. Mom would tell me "it's just a little boy's way
of saying he likes you." I remember asking why you couldn't
just give me a cookie, now that's real love. But I'll admit, initially, I thought
you were cute, until you opened your mouth. In middle school
you would ignore me in class, but once we got off the bus you wouldn't shut up. I liked
our little after school chats. You'd show, only me, your love of cats.
Particularly Flufferkins, our secret calico kitten we hid in your shed and how we
cried when our mothers said we couldn't keep him. How, in high school, you would
glare at me in class after I got my first boyfriend. You made me feel wanted
only after you couldn't have me. When you told me to dump him. How sullen you looked
when we held hands. So let me just say I've always hated you for never grabbing my hand
while you could. For trying to break us up when you offered nothing in return. For the day
you gave up and smiled wishing us the best of luck. I think I hate myself more-
too chicken to act when you failed to make the first move. But I can learn
to love this new man. After all I never believed in love at first sight.