My self-loathing is a tree, planted as a hate-seed by the people around me.
He hated me because I can’t be tamed, because I wore a defiant face when punished, because I remind him of someone he despised.
His hatred spread to her and her and her. Now, they treat me like shit. Now the younger ones can never respect me.
They hate me because I didn’t choose them. And I couldn’t blame them.
Together, they’ve nourished the hate-plant. I didn’t really know it existed — I only felt it every now and then, lingering around the edges of my unconscious shadow.
I think of an end: should I cut the tee, the self-loathing tree that has become me?