YOU DON’T LOVE ME ENOUGH

 

Often times, you don’t remember

how I like to have my eggs.

What’s my favorite color? 

I am certain you can’t even guess.

But I know you so well, and 

I hate that you don’t come near.

You don’t know my best lips 

combo or the type of 

dresses I like to wear.

You often forget my middle 

name and missed my 

birthday the other day.

But I had loved you like that anyways.

For so long, I’ve remembered 

your name, the type of things 

you love to play as game.

I’ve paid attention to every 

little thing: like your work tools 

and the things you mostly do.

I think that you are vain.

You plant yourself in 

the work of the day.

You forget even I work way 

too much in a day, yet, 

in the midst of it all, 

I remember all you say.

You don’t show up 

on special days; the only thing 

I have from you is a nickname.

It causes me pain.

Because love is to be felt 

in every way: either in a 

distance or even in close shave.

But you forget. You forget 

my favorite day, 

where my tattoo is, and how 

I like to wear my weave.

But I know your face, 

the cream you’d most likely pick, 

a movie that would make 

your day, the meals you hate, 

and an allergy that started 

when you were 8.

How can you repay my love this way?

You forget everything I say. 

You often say to me,

“I’ve had a long day.”

But I’ve had my day go longer, 

and I never rub it in your face.

I’ve gone back and forth 

about how you are giving 

me the barest minimum, 

and you still stand your ground 

like that’s all you could give 

and it’s your very best.

I think you suck, and 

I think I’ve extended you grace enough.

I think you are not certain 

if this is a place you should 

remain, and I am careful to 

not take barest minimum, 

thinking it’s the best effort you gave.

I’ve always known love to 

be thoughtful, intentional, 

ever present, and forever 

embedded in steps, thoughts, actions, mood.

If you cannot extend 

emotions to me in that way, 

then I have no reason to 

leave a message on the 

morning of your best days 

and say, “I am rooting 

for you, have a great day!”

You never take a pause 

to think of me. 

Do you know how I know?

Because you never leave 

me messages that are quick to 

let me know there’s a part 

of you thinking of me.

So, this is what I think! 

I am not planted enough in 

your heart to receive emotions 

that involve your vulnerability, 

compassion, and interest.

You don’t love me enough 

to understand that I could 

die of heavy thoughts 

if you do not talk to me 

about what’s going on.

You don’t open up enough 

to involve me in what’s up.

You are just not that person, 

and I can’t negotiate it anymore.

So, I do wish you the best.

I just can’t do this; 

I am growing up. 

But even if I were young, 

this is a type of love 

I’d never wish for anyone.

I don’t think you don’t 

know how to love, 

I think it’s me that 

you don’t love enough.