Ode to Heath

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 that 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.