it is all entertainment
you were given the task to hate. the world doesn't reward love. by 'the world', i mean whatever algorithm you pray to. you were given the responsibility to hate one part of humanity for the sake of the rest. you either hate the very few that are making it worse for the rest of us, or you hate us because it stands to reason that it's enough of us to cause whatever we're going through. you embraced hatred. it is what defines how you spend your day. if you hate poverty, you work to avoid it and to justify the mental dissonance that comes at the brink of exhaustion and the end of the month. if you hate the poor, you make them work for you to justify their existence and your discomfort. you were put in charge of an endless stream of hate, a dark pool underneath it all that was formed between our need to exist in a world, and the urge to die because we live in [t h i s] world. i don't know how love factors into all of this, into any of this. i don't know if hope serves any purpose. if it is nothing but a privilege, i will fight with bourgeois determination to keep it. i will keep it like heirlooms that glisten with past indiscretions. maybe someday i will love you enough to give them to you but, for now, i find the ease you have to hate oppressively pedestrian, to the point of disgust. you keep hierarchies that enable me to feel superior in my privileged self-entitlement, as delusional as it can be. [y o u m a k e m e h a t e m y s e l f] and, in that hatred, i find myself steeping to your level, and bereft of my self-inflicted nobility. my only saving grace is that i cannot hate you, but you bore me into a nauseating stupor. you were given the task to hate, but i was given the opportunity to love. you were given the opportunity to be loved. make an effort and my fortune will be yours.