Reading poems about hate can help you purge yourself of all the ill feelings in your heart. Hate is an emotion that can create inner turmoil in you. It is powerful enough to consume you from within. When you realize that someone hates us, you feel uncomfortable and lose your peace of mind. However, when you develop feelings of hatred, it is important to address them as early as possible. Since these feelings distract you from positivity, expressing them through words can help you heal faster. This post has a list of poems about hate that will help you find inner solace and inspire you to build positivity. Keep scrolling.
‘I Hate You’ Poems
When someone hurts you terribly, you experience a mix of anger, betrayal, grief, and pain. These poems help you vent your feelings and usher peace into your heart.
1. To My Enemy
Let those who will of friendship sing, And to its guerdon grateful be, But I a lyric garland bring To crown thee, O, mine enemy! Thanks, endless thanks, to thee I owe For that my lifelong journey through Thine honest hate has done for me What love perchance had failed to do. I had not scaled such weary heights But that I held thy scorn in fear, And never keenest lure might match The subtle goading of thy sneer. Thine anger struck from me a fire That purged all dull content away, Our mortal strife to me has been Unflagging spur from day to day. And thus, while all the world may laud The gifts of love and loyalty, I lay my meed of gratitude Before thy feet, mine enemy! — Lucy Maud Montgomery
2. Let Such Pure Hate Still Underprop
Let such pure hate still underprop Our love, that we may be Each other’s conscience, And have our sympathy Mainly from thence. We’ll one another treat like gods, And all the faith we have In virtue and in truth, bestow On either, and suspicion leave To gods below. Two solitary stars– Unmeasured systems far Between us roll; But by our conscious light we are Determined to one pole. What need confound the sphere?– Love can afford to wait; For it no hour’s too late That witnesseth one duty’s end, Or to another doth beginning lend. It will subserve no use, More than the tints of flowers; Only the independent guest Frequents its bowers, Inherits its bequest. No speech, though kind, has it; But kinder silence doles Unto its mates; By night consoles, By day congratulates. What saith the tongue to tongue? What hearest ear of ear? By the decrees of fate From year to year, Does it communicate. Pathless the gulf of feeling yawns; No trivial bridge of words, Or arch of boldest span, Can leap the moat that girds The sincere man. No show of bolts and bars Can keep the foeman out, Or ‘scape his secret mine, Who entered with the doubt That drew the line. No warder at the gate Can let the friendly in; But, like the sun, o’er all He will the castle win, And shine along the wall. There’s nothing in the world I know That can escape from love, For every depth it goes below, And every height above. It waits, as waits the sky, Until the clouds go by, Yet shines serenely on With an eternal day, Alike when they are gone, And when they stay. Implacable is Love– Foes may be bought or teased From their hostile intent, But he goes unappeased Who is on kindness bent. — Henry David Thoreau
3. Hate Is Only One Of Many Responses
Hate is only one of many responses true, hurt and hate go hand in hand but why be afraid of hate, it is only there think of filth, is it really awesome neither is hate don’t be shy of unkindness, either it’s cleansing and allows you to be direct like an arrow that feels something out and out meanness, too, lets love breathe you don’t have to fight off getting in too deep you can always get out if you’re not too scared an ounce of prevention’s enough to poison the heart don’t think of others until you have thought of yourself, are true all of these things, if you feel them will be graced by a certain reluctance and turn into gold if felt by me, will be smilingly deflected by your mysterious concern. — Frank O’Hara
4. Hate
I had a bitter enemy, His heart to hate he gave, And when I died he swore that he Would dance upon my grave; That he would leap and laugh because A livid corpse was I, And that’s the reason why I was In no great haste to die. And then – such is the quirk of fate, One day with joy I read, Despite his vitalizing hate My enemy was dead. Maybe the poison in his heart Had helped to haste his doom: He was not spared till I depart To spit upon my tomb. The other day I chanced to go To where he lies alone. ‘Tis easy to forgive a foe When he is dead and gone. . . . Poor devil! Now his day is done, (Though bright it was and brave,) Yet I am happy there is none To dance upon my grave. — Robert William Service
5. Sonnet Xlviii: Cupid, I Hate Thee
Cupid, I hate thee, which I’d have thee know; A naked starveling ever may’st thou be. Poor rogue, go pawn thy fascia and thy bow For some few rags wherewith to cover thee. Or, if thou’lt not, thy archery forbear, To some base rustic do thyself prefer, And when corn’s sown or grown into the ear, Practise thy quiver and turn crow-keeper. Or, being blind, as fittest for the trade, Go hire thyself some bungling harper’s boy; They that are blind are often minstrels made; So may’st thou live, to thy fair mother’s joy, That whilst with Mars she holdeth her old way, Thou, her blind son, may’st sit by them and play. — Michael Drayton
6. Wrath And Rain
I woke up angry today The taste of blood bitter and sweet Clinging in the curves in my mouth My teeth had split my lip in sleep Through the window the sky is threatening to rain My hand curl into fists, my nails digging into my palm The chains of hatred creep and tighten around my throat Around my wrists, simply all around me The pain in this body is like a whip hitting The monster that lives inside my soul Splitting its skin and bringing it to the surface I have to breath, I have to calm down Outside the rain starts to fall in a Seattle mist Building up in its own expression of mania Turning into a hail storm that beats the house I fall to my knees and scream in fury Beating my fists against the floor in a frenzied rage The hits barely audible above the scream of hail I can’t fucking fight a sickness I cannot name Each hit to the floor I wish for my fist to break Begging for a physical injury instead of this weakness That the bones in my hand would shatter There is no enemy but this body of mine No one to hurt but myself in this situation No outside threat, just the family curse in my veins There is nothing I can do and I fall back against the wall Sobbing in sharp bitterness unable to breathe The tears cut lines as they slide down my face The bruises slowly blooming across my knuckles Nothing will ever put out the wrath that lives in me And death is but a coward for this approach Maybe when this is all over the creature that made me Will finally meet the wretched being they created And when they do I hope I get to punch them — BlueBeastGirl
7. Hate Poem
I hate you truly. Truly I do. Everything about me hates everything about you. The flick of my wrist hates you. The way I hold my pencil hates you. The sound made by my tiniest bones were they trapped in the jaws of a moray eel hates you. Each corpuscle singing in its capillary hates you. Look out! Fore! I hate you. The little blue-green speck of sock lint I’m trying to dig from under my third toenail, left foot, hates you. The history of this keychain hates you. My sigh in the background as you pick out the cashews hates you. The goldfish of my genius hates you. My aorta hates you. Also my ancestors. A closed window is both a closed window and an obvious symbol of how I hate you. My voice curt as a hairshirt: hate. My hesitation when you invite me for a drive: hate. My pleasant “good morning”: hate. You know how when I’m sleepy I nuzzle my head under your arm? Hate. The whites of my target-eyes articulate hate. My wit practices it. My breasts relaxing in their holster from morning to night hate you. Layers of hate, a parfait. Hours after our latest row, brandishing the sharp glee of hate, I dissect you cell by cell, so that I might hate each one individually and at leisure. My lungs, duplicitous twins, expand with the utter validity of my hate, which can never have enough of you, Breathlessly, like two idealists in a broken submarine. — Julie Sheehan
8. The Hate That I Hate
I hate the hate that resides in me now I hate the hate that is so heavy it weighs me down I hate the hate that keeps my emotions tightly wound I hate the hate that charges my wall I hate the hate that lies to strengthen my fall I hate the hate that has me in chains I hate the hate that courses through my veins I hate the hate that is a shadow at my side I hate the hate that has stolen my mind I hate the hate that blinds me from the stars I hate the hate that has created my war I hate the hate that has stolen my grace My scarlet letter written all over my face — Adalie Hettie
9. I Hate
I hate, hate that I can’t trust I hate, hate that I must lie because they’d rather believe I’m fine. I hate, hate who I’ve been. I hate, hate to make decisions. I hate, hate that I can’t hate those I should. I hate, hate my life. I hate, hate that I can’t die. I hate, hate to live in fear and hate. I hate, hate my uncertainty. I hate, hate the lies people tell me. I hate, hate that I believe. I hate, hate those that wish their lives were mine. I hate, hate all emotion that’s mine. I hate, hate that I need others. I hate, hate my own d*mn incompetence. I hate, hate that there’s so much to hate. — Dama Tristeza
10. Love To Hate And Hate To Love
Am I sick cos I hate to hate you, You made me hate you, Let myself hate you, When it’s all your fault, …Cos you made me love you, Yeah you made me hate to love you, Now I hate myself. So twist through time, If you ever look back… Admit you used me like the other damn Jacks! So all that time you were lying? All that time I was a fool? Now this time I lay dying, Drowning in this apathy pool, These salted tears the gullable shed, Well I’ve shed mine, With guilt and dread, Hear the voices, Conscience in my head, Now I can’t trust it, My conscience’s dead. Bittersweet, bitterweet tears run down, All that time, I choked, I drowned, I bled these thoughts again and again, In my mind again, and again… — Anita Clark
Short Poems About Hate
Short and pithy, these poems lay the heart bare with few words. When the emotion is strong enough and the words are chosen right, where is the need for extravagance?
11. Hate Is…
Hate is a feeling that boils with rage. Hate is a feeling you lose with age. Hate is a feeling that eats inside. Hate is a feeling we all should hide. Hate is the feeling we dont understand. Hate is the feeling of losing our stand. Hate is the feeling of a thing called fear. Hate is the feeling that hurts in here. Hate is a feeling that grows some more. Hate is a feeling, what good is it for? Hate is a feeling that you have too. Hate is a feeling I have for you. — Kev Elmer
12. I Hate It
I hate it when u look at me I hate it when u smile ur smile I hate it when u say hi 2 me and wave I hate it when u think u noe everything I hate it when ur with ur friends and not me I hate it when u don’t say hi I don’t hate u I just realized that I love u I just hate it when u don’t do these things 2 me I hate it when ur not around I hate u but I love u at the same time. — Justine Ahumada
13. To One Hated
Had it been when I came to the valley where the paths parted asunder, Chance had led my feet to the way of love, not hate, I might have cherished you well, have been to you fond and faithful, Great as my hatred is, so might my love have been great. Each cold word of mine might have been a kiss impassioned, Warm with the throb of my heart, thrilled with my pulse’s leap, And every glance of scorn, lashing, pursuing, and stinging, As a look of tenderness would have been wondrous and deep. Bitter our hatred is, old and strong and unchanging, Twined with the fibres of life, blent with body and soul, But as its bitterness, so might have been our love’s sweetness Had it not missed the waystrange missing and sad!to its goal. — Lucy Maud Montgomery
14. I Hate Myself For This
I hate this person I’ve become I hate who I am and who I thought I would never be I hate my father for making me this way I hate the selfishness I have now become I hate the endless pain I put people through I hate the way I hide myself in this pain I hate the crazy world I’m living in called my life I hate when my friends suffer because of my problems I hate the fact that everything I’ve worked so hard not to be is what defines me I hate that people cant see who I really am I hate that my heart is broken with no one to put it back together Stay out of my life. — Anonymous
15. 2Morrow
Today is filled with anger fueled with hidden hate scared of being outcast afraid of common fate Today is built on tragedies which no one wants 2 face nightmares 2 humanities and morally disgraced Tonight is filled with rage violence in the air children bred with ruthlessness because no one at home cares Tonight I lay my head down but the pressure never stops gnawing at my sanity content when I am dropped But 2morrow I c change a chance 2 build a new Built on spirit intent of Heart and ideals based on truth and tomorrow I wake with second wind and strong because of pride 2 know I fought with all my heart 2 keep my dream alive. — Emily Bronte
16. I Love Hate
I love hate; it’s plain to see It fills the hearts of my enemies It sucks out the life and joy from their souls And where happiness was, it leaves a large hole They like to spread rumors and go off on a rant But ask’em for a reason, You Know! They just can’t You see, Hate is just darkness, a disease of the mind It soon affects everything; you’ll find it time The way you talk to others, the expression on your face You tend to lose compassion and be void of all grace It just makes more enemies and never a friend And when it’s all over, you’ll feel empty in the end So I leave all the hate to those who revel in it And get on with my life, Loving every minute — JT Curtis
17. Hate
A choke on the river of joy A berg in the sea of happiness Hail in a shower of affection Hurtling and hurting the heart A feeling of utter loath A taste of bile in the mouth Fanned fires of internal malevolence Flaming brands spewing black An emotional roar of indignation A mental synapse of misery Bloody crucible of anger Bleeding profuse profanities An antithesis to all things lovable Anticlimax to lovely pleasantries Mercurial effort dislodging fun Mindboggling evil splash Vile! — Gidraf Mwangi
18. Starved to Death
The relationship has starved to death It’s finally breathed its very last breath Year after year of waiting and hoping Trying to find a new way of coping Looking for promise and wanting to see A glimmer of hope appear to me We touched up the makeup on the deceased The cold stiff body, its soul now released The body was once a warm living thing A vessel from which all hope did spring Beaten and battered by lie after lie Starved and neglected left out to die It should have grown strong And lasted so long But cruel fate and uncaring hearts Shredded and broke it to many small parts The dead will be mourned and soon forgotten The killers walk not knowing how wanton Their hearts really are or what else has died Dead is their love and dead they are inside — Don Bower
19. Sonnet 142: Love Is My Sin, And Thy Dear Virtue Hate
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving, O, but with mine, compare thou thine own state, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving, Or if it do, not from those lips of thine That have profaned their scarlet ornaments And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine, Robbed others’ beds’ revenues of their rents. Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov’st those Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee. Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, By self-example mayst thou be denied! — William Shakespeare
20. I Had No Time To Hate Because…
I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity. Nor had I time to love, but since Some industry must be, The little toil of love, I thought, Was large enough for me. — Emily Dickinson
