The speaker begins with a flat, almost tired statement: you don't love me. Then it widens into something bigger, that nobody knows how to love them. It reads like a complaint at first, but the poem turns in the third line. Perhaps, the speaker says, that is exactly what they love: being so strange and so unlike everyone else that love can't reach them.
That twist is what makes the poem interesting. The speaker seems to take pride in being unlovable, as if the loneliness has become part of who they are. At the same time, it's hard to tell how much of this is true and how much is protection. Saying "I love being unlovable" can be a way of hurting less. The word "inhumane" is a strong, even harsh choice, and the dash at the end leaves the thought hanging. The mood is quiet, defensive, and sad, with a hint of defiance underneath.