Touse poem, for my babies

Dear TKE,

I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair
I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare.
I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme!
I hate it, I hate the way you’re always right. I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry.
I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call.
But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you.
Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.