Hard

Had you but witnessed all that I have seen
You would not think my apathy a sin;
There are worse things, and some of them I've been.
To feel now nothing is not low or mean,
But in its way a blessing I receive
With open - though by now uncaring - arms.
It keeps a buffer in between my harms
And me, and makes it difficult to grieve
For what I was - and what I wasn't too.
It's better thus, and therefore do not seek
To make a smile brush across my cheek:
I will not change, although you want me to.
Insensitive, and therefore less exposed,
I much prefer myself to be this closed.