A silly dream

I don't believe in hate, but I hate my parents. I hate that they didn't raise me but trained me to blend in. I hate that my mother was embarrassed to show me knowing that people would know she continued on her family curse of having children young. I hate the amount of time I spent alone thinking of my father, and wondering why he didn't love me. I hate the things they do, but I refuse to believe it. I refuse to believe in that feeling. My childhood memories are alone, sitting in my room while I hear my brothers laughing down the steps, in fields picking at the grass as I tried not to cry for reasons I didn't understand, my mom coming home from work with that smell of smoke, coffee, and pumpkin as she asked if I was okay and I'd always tell her yes. When I finally opened my eyes to the world, I came out to see a whole world, one that wasn't square and cramped and reeked of mildew but one that was endless but I always kept one foot in the box. Now I'm 18 and I've tried so many different things, I've blended and purposely stood out. I've been expanded and shrank. And I morn. I morn what I could have had. The life that I deserved but I was never given. Parents who cared, friends, family. I was robbed and I'm still ankle deep in cement. I know there's only one way out and I know it's scary. I want to move away, far away were I can start over. Were no one will know my name. I want a country dog, a cat. Maybe take my best friend along with me. I want to experience things new, I want out of the box. I want to stop feeling hopeless and scared. I want my brother to know, I want him to accept me like when we were kids. I'm tired of the guilt eating away at me. But those are just silly dreams. Daydreams I keep locked away in my head to keep me sane. I'll never believe in hate, if I believe in hate I will truly have no hope for this world, for this dream.