Erik Nelson

The Hatred Of Love by Erik Nelson

I was raised in between the pleasure of pain disguised with the abuse of never hearing the encouragement of relatives that only showed the partial of concerns when things were beneficial to their current of circumstances, and in return of receiving receipts of bitterness purchased with the display of guilt I sadly weeped with thoughts of dealing the defeat of them no longer usuing the tactics of intellectually being manipulative, and as I sat calmly on couches that were handed down by neighbors that no longer needed or wanted the wore down but conditioned decently for those that couldn’t afford living in the updated expense of fashion my hope was to eventually overlook the hurt of being overlooked by those who would later need the help of me forgetting their rejection of never being considered anything except that’s what’s her name’s son, and as I sat alone in the kitchen’s, living room’s and bedroom’s of the governments metropolitan projects smoking cigarettes while thinking of ways to succeed beyond having to choose between carrying revolvers, stealing, or selling my genitals to women that in exchange would celebrate the momentary pleasures of me giving inches to the walls that build and carry the life of boys and girls who would eventually grow and transition into the hope of what was always silently concealed, and even through the written laughter of me never dedicating or commiting to anything my reflection became the existence of so many books yet titled untitled an on going process of still progressing in the determination of being loved without needing to be physically present to see the applauds of people honoring what they believe, and as I sat in school classrooms while teacher’s alledgedly educated students I mentally wandered in the hopes of being the teacher teaching the understanding of once enduring what they never wanted to experience, and although my charactr of shynesss kept silenced, my deceitfulnesss challenged their ignorance of them overlooking the control of me only wanting to be acknowledged as an actor acting out life while concealing my identity of being a manipulating intellectualist, and when the actions of being disciplined presented phone calls by the principle calling my mom as she sat at home in the comfort of not expecting to be distracted by the foolishness of me stealing the attention of her being glued to the television while the cold hearted and ageless portrayed gossip of actors living restless in the ugliness of being bold while the constant turn’s of knob’s on door’s gave the frustration of living in the reality of a unfilmed soap opera of seeing so many men walking in and out of the house intending to be fed the satisfaction of guilt, but in return the deviance of my unmanageable behaviour left them with thoughts of disgust as my hate reflected a boy missing his father!

Erik Nelson
DOC #445-941

lebanon corr inst

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