I really hated moving into the basement 
and I really hated that you never finished it
or put hvac in it
or fixed the flooding problem when I called you about it 
and you did nothing but bitch about coming home early from your weekend getaway.

I really hated when I saw your brand new car today,
the one with eight miles on it that
you bought your little Juliet as a birthday gift
even though I still don’t have one. 

I really fucking hate that you call her kids your own 
and made room for them in our home
when I had to wait for your love and acknowledgement for the first twelve years of my life.

But most of all,
I think,

I really hate that I’ll never be permanent to you 
in the same way that four failed engagements,
hundreds of unanswered calls,
thousands of unfulfilled promises,
and three daughters 
never were.