Hating That Love

Tonight I wait, tonight I sit pondering writing of love, well on what love has done to one in the worst of ways. It is not for the one I cherish most that I read these bitter, hateful, sorrowful words, no I read them for the ways I have been treated by "those" other people in my life. Well my past. Who had sworn the truth that they loved me. What sweet little lies they started as. So tasty for me to swallow, so much easier to digest their poison. Ah, what can I do. At some points I feel it was my fault for trusting. For me so broken. For liking to be broken. Years of therapy and books, so many books, to help me overcome. But I like books. They have always been truth worthy friends. And I have gleaned so much from theses books. Words and ways that I have never had the fortune of experiencing or learning. Which I could blame, maybe should blame, on my up bringing, parents, adults, surroundings, blah blah and whatever else. But truly what is the use. So is the biggest part, the truest reason for what I was, however, now I have a choice. To be whatever they had molded me to be. Or fucking step up and shove all their hypocrisy down their sore throats and watch them squirm. Hm. Na, to much work I'll just plan on living a happy life for now and see ho it goes, who knows I might actually like this.