I Find It Hard to Care

I find it hard to care.
Yeah, happy times, smooth sailing,
just wait a day,
the weather will change.
If it’s so hard
to climb out of the storm
that lingers
even during fair skies,
what’s the point?
It will never go away.
It will never be conquered.
So it’s hard to remember
that it will never win
unless I leave myself
to numb.

Call upon your medicines
to fix my apathy,
or the sudden bursts
of feeling
that ravish my heart and mind
with the world that
I don’t care,
because there was no reason
anyways.

And if your heavy blanket
or citrus melon incense,
yoga, pilates,
green and veggie fruit diet,
have a chance to play
in the riot which is
my condition,
perhaps I’ll get the chance
to breathe the open air
and maybe care.

But until then,
I’ll huddle low
within my hut,
arms wide to block
those chafting winds
from the flame and warmth
of instinct
to persevere,
or wait till it finally
gives out.

Because I find it hard

to care.

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