Every person is born with the ability to hate in three different shades.
[ONE]
The first kind is a fluid feeling.
It is interchangeable and softly woven with the heavy conscious of your own opinion. It can shift and bend with your emotions until it settles into something that grows ravenous, that runs fevers deep inside of you. Something that reminds you of the blind rage that creeps under your skin like the smoke of a long burned cigarette that still lingers on the dry flesh of your arms and neck. It’s the kind of hate you point towards a person or a group or a thing you utterly despise. Someone that betrayed or hurt you. Someone that makes you want to punch something. Preferably their face.
[TWO]
The second kind of hatred is much more subtle and often unnoticed.
A dark crack that runs down in the middle of your life, something that drills in your mind at night while you fail to sleep. Every twisted, frightened thought you ever had that slithers in your veins and poisons your mind. It’s the kind of hate you point towards yourself. A house of crafted lies you tell yourself to be alive. A synonym for each I am not good enough and every I fucked up again. You’re used to the constant exhaustion of self-hate. Deep down you’re a cruel master of self-destruction and wield your blade with utter disregard and neglect. Living with rage inside your heart comes as easy as breathing. If people notice, you don’t care. It’s none of their business. So you stash it like a well-known secret in the pockets of your jeans and the biting words inside your mouth.
[THREE]
And then there’s another kind of hatred.
A kind that runs deeper and darker than anything else. While the first two are barely touching the surface, this one dips into you and pulls at the fragile strings of your mind. Sometimes it is a well-known truth, sometimes a vague deflection like growling thunder from far away. It’s the kind of hate you point towards a special person in your life. The one that brings out the worst in you. Unapologetic raw emotions spilled and thrown across the thin, hollow place in-between. The fatal flaw in your carefully constructed life. The tiny hidden truth you take to bed because you fear once you admit it, the creature will crack your bones and tear your skin apart. The third kind of hatred is the worst of all. It can easily be mistaken for love.
- Hate in three Shades | r.m - published in Fragments
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