How Do I Loathe Me?
How do I loathe me? Let me count the ways.
I loathe me in the dark and baneful night,
My soul reaching, and groping for the light
Of Meaning, Purpose, end to endless chase.
I loathe me to the level of every day's
Most wretched wrong I cannot set aright.
I loathe me constantly, as days turn to night;
I loathe me truly, knowing all's false praise.
I loathe me seeing I am of no use,
Insufferable, dull, crude, without faith.
I loathe me with conviction I don't lose
When I smile, laugh—I loathe me with each breath.
All my life is self-sore!—and, if I choose,
I shall loathe me no more with selfless death.
by Brook J. Sadler
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Brook J. Sadler is a mammal, a biped, an herbivore, living in the Holocene epoch. She is tallish, thinish, grayish, smartish, and pricklish. More introvert and ectomorph than the reverse, she prefers pencils to all the alternatives. She cannot tell jadeite from nephrite, and occasionally confuses homonyms. She does not smoke, but sometimes fumes. Philosopher and poet, she is a hybrid. Professor and mother and one-time dancer, she's kinda weird.