Freewrite: Not-so Love
You told me
in not so many words
that you cannot love me
when you’re hurting
You cannot take an interest
in who or what I am
while licking your own wounds
I look at the smooth chip of skin
placed softly amidst the wrinkles
of my third knuckle
and infer a diagnosis:
Even when I draw blood
not even the feigning of concern
How bored I must be
to tolerate this not-so love
How many years might I wait
for you to notice
Me.