I used to write when I felt like this.

but lately that's not what I've been doing because
shits all(llllll) fucked up. sam, left. got onto a plane and
flew away. then I got clocked going 95mph on the 101 freeway.
then I got sick, and my car broke down in simi on my way to
the hospital. I just wanted penicillin, but it didn't work out and
I sat in the summer heat of the valley for an hour waiting for
a tow. then my grandmother took away her promise to pay
half our rent and, its too late to move into the dorms and
I don't even know how much the tickets going to be.
but I have $2,000 for the semester. and friends that
care about me. a pretty face, tickets to further and
four classes that I think I'm going to pass. but I'm
still sick and, on antibiotics, as well as pro-biotics,
but my cats doing just fine. but that is life and not
poetry, its not even poe try. I'm at a place in my life
where I'm not sure I can ever be happy. I'm dating
two fine girls but I do not think I can love them;
but I want to make love to them, with my very short
nails and toothy grins. I'm volunteering all around
joining groups, going through books at the library!
counting bikes off reseda and the gold line so
I can write something on a resume. its strange to
talk about my life, usually I don't, I know that this is
more of a diary then poetry but, I have nothing but
homework tomorrow and I miss smiling. its never
been my style, because yes I have one, to be anything but
twisted up. I am not a go with the flow person, so I've tried balancing
it out with intense indifference, but I've become something worse.
what I know I do not completely understand and mostly likely
I would be very bad at spelling it. but my nails are short and
perfect for fucking girls, so I should do that tomorrow night.
it would probably make me forget about all of this fucking god damn bullshit.