You are here again, aren't you?

So listen, because this is what I need to say.

You took what you wanted,
treated me as something to shape and use,
pulled the worst from places in me
I did not know could darken.
Again and again, you proved
that the whispers about you were not whispers at all,
but truths with sharp edges.

Selfish.
You move through the world like it belongs to you alone,
grasping, bending, taking,
morals twisted into whatever form
lets you sleep at night.
You do as you please,
leave wreckage like footprints,
and call it living.

And I—
I carry a hatred that hums in my bones,
heavy and constant as breath,
as blood,
as the only honest thing left in me.

Still, I will not curse you.
I will not ask the world to be kinder than you were.

I only wish you the future that fits you,
cut precisely to your measure,
stitched for a man exactly as you are.

And know this—
I hate you
with everything that I am.