Hate the way I am

I hate myself for being the way I am.
I hate that my loves always end up the same.
I hate that I love the way I do—I mean,
that I always fall in love with the wrong men
as it only turns into a pavements’ chase,
and that I, it seems, love in all the wrong ways.
I hate being in love—it’s ever hopelessly
because no matter how much I try, sadly,
every time it ends up exactly the same.
I hate myself for being in this so lame.
I hate that men just grow to hate me for
loving them, and then I hate myself the more.
I hate that I am too good a girl to mess
in others’ relationships and happiness,
though I despair. I hate I’m not such a bitch
and that I always love the guy just too much
to be able to hurt him in such a way.
I hate I’m not more selfish in this game-play.
I hate that I know too well I should forget
such men when it happens, but that’s easier said
than done, and I hate that it is actually
the hardest thing to do since I love deeply—
to cease loving even by a tiny bit.
I hate how it is and that I can’t change it.