Why do I hate people?
I hate people because they are incredulously disappointing, but nine times out of ten the joke’s on them because I hate them anyways.
I hate people because they are the most self-serving bastards on the planet. It honestly takes an act of God to make a person remember that others exist and are more important.
I hate people because they choose to ignore me as if I’m not worth an upward glance, a second of their time or even the breath of a single one-word answer.
I hate people because they could talk about their overstuffed, underpaid, gluttonous lives for days on end, but can’t remember my first name and scarcely care to ask if I’m okay, when I’m clearly not.
I hate people because they exist and are around me.
I hate people because they’re afraid of tremendous things like love, intimacy, mercy and the unknown; a sense of adventure in the truly terrifying is lost on the human race.
I hate people because they pick their own nonsensical extremes and they throw themselves overboard into the churning waters of this obsession and that, and refuse reason.
I hate people because they’re suggestible, but stubbornly unteachable.
I hate people because they’re temperamental and unpredictable.
I hate people because they say one thing when they mean entirely another.
I hate people because even with all the clichés they still let first impressions count.
I hate people because they’re noisy, messy, smelly, rude, blissfully arrogantly ignorant, and indecisive.
I hate people because they don’t see that they’re all wonderful creatures.
I hate people because they need to be constantly reminded of EVERYTHING; you’re handsome and beautiful; your soul is a deep well, and yes-you have a soul; you matter; you’re important; your thoughts, opinions, and views are valuable; your questions are not stupid-they are full of childlike wonder, innocence of knowledge, innocence of experience, and deep seated curiosity; you are full of good whether you realize it or not, because a good God created you and called you righteous; you are loved; you are cherished; you are sought after; you are intelligent and brave.
I hate people because they are flawed and even their flaws are beautiful and poetic.
But what I hate about people most of all is how deeply I care about each and every human being that I’ve met and even many that I haven’t met, and won’t meet.
I hate people because they all sit around in the chambers of my heart pressing on the walls, filling it more and more each day with new-found cares, hurts and joys until now my heart pains me with every beat growing stronger and denser because it is filled so full of love for all these wretched people whom I adore.
I hate people because with every day that passes no matter how bothersome you seem in this moment or that, no matter what emotions you cause to surge up in me, the troubles are only flashes in comparison to the detailed remembrance of the beauties I see in you that perhaps you don’t even recognize yet.
I hate people because every one of them I want to sketch into my memory with detailed accounts of the wondrous inscriptions of their person that shine, that beam, that trickle, that sneak out from their countenance.
I hate people because I love people and logic says there’s not much to love, but Love says, “They’re all Beloved.”