On the inside

Why do I feel like I do everything wrong?
Why do people treat me like I don't belong?
Am I that horrible?
so unlikeable?
I try to make them happy
because as long as they are happy
How I feel doesn't matter

Constantly bashed upon
Everything I like
Enjoy
cherish
Is completely wrong

Music I like
Job choices
Even how I cut my hair
WRONG WRONG WRONG
I don't deserve to like things
people
places
and all the traces left of me
are sucked up
into their endless black hole
of scrutiny
and disgust

So I will go in my room
Lie on my bed
and go to the darkest place
I can think of in my head
and hope that
maybe now they'll know
on the inside
I'm dead