Others tell me to shower.
I don't.
I can't.
I try to get up
My legs don't move.
I try again.
I don't move.
My hair sits a rats nest on my head.
The grease of it making my hair shine like the night stars.
I hate it.
Yet I still can't move.
I pull my hair up to conceal what I can't do.
That others do so easily.
They tell me to.
That it's easy.
It's not.
Others say I'm just lazy.
That I'm faking it.
I'm not.
I wish I could do what you do so easily.
But I can't.