Fourth Beginning

Hate me.
I want you to hate me.
I want you to loathe me, resent me, look at me with nothing short of scornful, furious abhorrence.
I want you to see me as a killer, a tyrant, a cavalier ideologue, a bitch, a whore, a monster.
I want you to fucking hate me.

But instead, you look down upon me, see me as pitiable, a victim of her own benevolent ambition.
You see me as heroically tragic, fatally flawed, yet so, heartbreakingly close to redemption. Close enough to make the rest incidental, accidental, forgivable.
Yes, you forgive me. A kind smile, knowing eyes, a warmth that I know is merely waiting for the prompt to embrace, waiting for me to collapse in tearful complicity to your holy compassion.
Those are the gifts you offer, gratis, guiltless. And yet, all I want is your fucking hate.

Judge me!
Put me on trial and find me lacking, find me wanton, find me something other than the innocent I clearly, brazenly am not!
Is it so much to ask for you to damn me? Harrow me?
Hate me?

If I am not good enough for your own ethics, not virtuous enough, not inhuman enough to be held up to your implacable standards, here, take mine!
Use my own principles, my own hard thought, hard fought moralities to rake me over the coals of my ideals and ashes.
Look at me as I see my contemptible, wretched self and hate me!
Hate me!

Hate me.
Stop loving and, just, please, hate me.
Please.
If you have ever, really loved me, if you really... just hate me.
I need you to hate me.
I want you to, I need you to, I love you too

Hate me.