teenage angst?

I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair.

I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare.

I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind.

I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme.

I hate the way you’re always right. I hate it when you lie.

I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I

hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call.

But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.