A/N: Once again, this poem was originally written for my English class. Please review! Bonus points if you tell me your theory on what Julia's greatest fear was.
Warning: Small mention of sex. Don't like, don't read.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Obviously.
Hate is Love
Before, Part One: let me explain
call me pretentious, but I do not hate the party.
I do not call for their downfall, fist raised righteously, blood boiling at the injustice.
I am not a hero, and will never care about the generations to come.
please let me explain.
I am the generation of the party- raised on their rules and regulations,
clubs and organizations.
I held the flag and wore the sash,
but inside me there was nothing, and I knew.
I knew that they were the ones who took what was supposed to be there,
took the things I had the right to feel,
my very soul.
and that first time, sixteen,
with a man who smelled of mothballs and books,
I stole a little bit back from them.
and the next time, just a little bit more.
now I live for it, that brief time when I am not numb as the rest of them are.
and so sex has become my religion, my worship, my personal rebellion.
the faces and names of the men are meaningless blurs,
linked only by The Name, big brother.
they all work for him, feed his lies to the world.
and yet, with but a few, sugar-sweet words,
they are just as devoutly mine.
I feed his lies too, of course.
I feed his lies and hold the flag and wear the sash, more than I ever have before,
the price required for my moments of living.
so you see, it is not hate that makes me take my sick revenge on the party.
I merely have the childish wish to be happy.
I merely want to enjoy my life.