(I figured there should be some redress on this blog for the overwhelming preponderance of love poems. – Owen)

My mother said, “Do not give into hate.”
Or maybe that was Yoda. I don’t know.
It seems such good advice, at any rate:
But I’m about to break it, even so.

I hate the way I miss you now you’re gone.
I hate that I don’t feel you in the night;
I hate the sullen emptiness of dawn,
But know that this much hating isn’t right.

For all this hate, it’s gnawing at me somehow –
As one whose dying from the inside out;
I hate how much I’m hurting over love now,
But hate
Is all I’m left
To think about