HOW COULD I HATE

How Could I Hate?

The world can be loud.

Not loud like thunder 
loud like static.
Constant.
Crackling.
Fighting for attention.

I watch it sometimes.

People burning energy
on strangers.
On pixels.
On opinions that will not matter
in a hundred years.

And I grow quiet.

Because quiet lets me see.

And in that quiet
I ask myself

How could I hate?

How could I hate
when I have already survived
what was meant to thin me out?

When the ground shifted
and I learned how to stand anyway?

How could I hate
when love waits for me
without negotiation?

When eyes still look to me
for direction?

How could I hate
when breath continues to arrive
unearned
unannounced
faithful?

How could I hate
when I have walked past traps
that closed on others?

When I have seen walls
that swallow men whole
and I am still moving under open sky?

How could I hate
another man’s blessing
when my own hands
are still full?

How could I hate
another family’s joy
when mine still gathers at my table?

How could I hate
growth
glow
progress
when none of it subtracts from me?

Hate is subtraction.

And I am building.

How could I hate
when time is not guaranteed
and purpose still calls my name?

How could I hate
when my discipline
cost me too much
to abandon now?

How could I hate
from a distance?
From a screen?
From insecurity?

That would require shrinking.

And I have expanded too far
to fold back into resentment.

How could I hate
when my lineage survived storms
so I could stand here calm?

How could I hate
when children study my reactions
to learn what adulthood feels like?

How could I hate
when tomorrow may not arrive
but today already has?

No.

Bitterness is heavy.

I travel light.

Resentment is loud.

I prefer resonance.

Comparison is restless.

I choose cultivation.

And when I sit with everything
that tried to erase me

When I measure loss
against love

When I weigh noise
against breath

The answer becomes simple.

Not arrogant.

Not loud.

Just steady.

How could I hate?