what will i do if your answer is no;
if you don’t want me where shall i go?
the sting of your retort will hurt
but what will remain lurks deep beneath the surface
conspiring there with all the gathered history
of like experience,
coagulating, subsumed into the tissue of my being
with a half life well beyond my remaining years.

yet i would rather you saw me off,
clinically severed,
than accepted me under duress
for whatever reason
endured me because i persuaded you
of my worth.
if you don’t see it
tell me now.
just say no,
and i will move on.
this sojourn of belonging
will move on.