Pure, Loathsome Hatred

i was 16

having my first taste of love

when all of a sudden

my empathy was taken for granted

and i was wired away to a whole

new ineptitude of unfulfilling

bruises. however i soon realized

that his suffocating grip

on my bruised wrists

weren't out of the love

he had told me about.

yet it was out of Pure,

Loathsome Hatred

that caused him to look

at me with scorn

because i was the

most impurest thing

he had ever laid eyes on.

later, i mistook his hands

around my throat

for beauty in the undisclosed.

i've come to soon realize

that his shove

felt like petals on my skin.

that his pinch

was the devil's evocation.

that my tears

were his Salvation.

i cried that night because

i had perceived my total

inability to see the utter horror

that had become my life.