GARGOYLE

Things don't affect me like they used to.
It's not that I'm careless,
It's just that I can care less
that the ones I've cared about
have started to care less than they have.
Although I'm callous I don't hate.
I don't dislike and most importantly
I damn sure don't feel bad.
Even when fate has stood next to me
on the edge of hopelessness
and pushed me over
when I least expected it
I don't feel bad…
I don't feel bad that in order to shine
I have to pickpocket Natasha Bedingfield
for some of her sunshine
since she got a pocket full.
All I need is a couple rays,
to shine through the showers
of darkness that I've been drenched in.
I got friends on the streets still screaming
“Free my dog!”
out of this monopolized kennel
they got me fenced in.
I'm not a fucking animal.
I'm more of an overrated athlete,
with high cholesterol,
I got butterfingers,
because I always seem to drop the ball.
My future is blurry.
I got a tendency of losing goals
when I get knocked off my route.
I'm self-driven,
even though I've lost my heart
more times than car keys,
the only thing I've been able
to keep nowadays…
is my composure… or my cool.
Though I sometimes do sweat
in heated arguments
as philosophical insecurities
seep through my pores as thick as mud.
But to my pride, words are wasted air.
The opinionated breeze drying
the mud on my skin
creating another layer of concrete
that I refuse to let people get under.
I think I'm one of few alive
who can look Medusa in her eyes.
I credit that to lies
certain lives have fed me.
Though I have had women
with hearts of chisels
and hammers of understanding
try to chip away
at the stone of my indifference,
forced to leave after they realize
that my granite of acceptance
only damages their tools.
Although I try,
I don't feel like I used to.
Due to a numbness from the cold
of a continuous storm
pounding on my skin.
I dream, of ancient cathedrals,
topped with gargoyles,
on cloudy nights
when the moon is dead
when rains plummet the gargoyles
and the only illumination comes from
the angry flare light sends in bolts
as if to remind the darkness
that it can still reign in night and rain
and I feel at home.
Even hundreds of feet below
I can look up and lock eyes
with gargoyles and empathize.
Because my existence
has become one of stone.
Epidermal emotional concrete
that I refuse to let people get under.
A chronic disorder of indifference.
Things don't affect me like they used to.
It's not that I'm careless
it's just that I can care less
that the ones I've cared about
have started to care less than they have.
Although I'm callous I don't hate.
I don't dislike and most importantly,
I damn sure don't feel bad…
because most times,
I don't FEEL anything at all.