Hate

My father would tell me

that I didn’t really mean it

no doubt dismayed at how his son

a boy with the whole world around him

could use the word hate

so casually

 

he would put his hands on my narrow shoulders

look down at my upturned face

and insist that I didn’t really hate

that there was no room in the world

in me

for hate

 

I hate

that he was wrong

 

©2018 BY STEVE DENEHAN. PROUDLY CREATED WITH WIX.COM

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