the night the stars fell - poetry collection

appearance

they berated me for years for not caring about my appearance, but it was a silent protest, it was suffering in silence, where I knew that the less I cared about how I dressed, the less I would care enough to kill myself because I hate how I look, and I hate that mirror, and I hate every single thing about me, but they wouldn't understand, so I don't care what I look like, and I don't care about my appearance, because caring about my appearance, and caring about what I look like, is just too much energy, and my brain doesn't have enough time, she's too busy keeping me alive, rather than thinking what I wear and how my hair looks,  but you wouldn't understand it's a deeper issue than i let on, and you'll still berate me, for now that i care, i look put together, and not depressed enough, and you'll never be satisfied. i'll never be satisfied.