Last Entry to the Battle of the Pens Competition
Line Count: 32
I Detest Thee
Do you remember how it felt,
the day we walked into that hell?
My stupid mind was filled with
visions of the great and wonderful
people I would meet on these
sweat and tear stained grounds.
I was, and still am not, very good
with the mundane people of everyday
society; they call me awkward or weird.
I blame that for how those days went.
As we woke in the early hours of morning,
our tired and hungry bodies rushing to the
cafeteria in order to not be the last ones,
I was always struck by how lonely it felt.
I was the newcomer in the frey of multitudes
of students who had probably been here
before; the lonely outcast in a place where
friends must have been made years earlier.
Oh, I did try. I went to classes on Spanish,
astronomy, and art; my voice and features warm.
But none could produce someone who did not
sneer or walk away when I told them I was new.
These walls speak of laughter and long made
loves of learning, where hope can be found, but
I have not yet met that elusive creature that is
proclaimed to live with its cousin of solace here.
So you know what I hate most about hope?
When it dies, you curse the fates for allowing
it to infect your mind and soul in the first place;
as if you were not the fool that invited it. Because
hope isn’t pretty; it is an parasite masquerading as an
angel that feeds until there is nothing left to cling to.