3Can't write
Head is pounding
Was in such a good mood today,
God I hate mood swings
I try and try (and try and try and try and try…)
For what?
Stepped on, beaten down, spat at.
Laughed at.
Practice what you preach
Sounds so fucking easy
.don' . . .don' . .think.
I am such a hypocrite
My own friends,
Criticizing me
Mocking me
Looking down on me
didn't.even.have.the.decency.not.to.say.it.to.my.face.
Probably don't care.
Yeah, I don't have a fucking motormouth.
Who the hell said that I have to tell them every detail of my life?
And I can't even stop sitting with them.
So I guess I'll just dread lunch until I graduate.
Absolfuckingutely fabulous.
And why do I have to stand in front of so many people,
Week after week (after week after week after week…)
Doesn't that teacher realize that some people don't like to be the center of attention?
It gets awkward reading a story you poured you heart into to thirty brain-dead sheep.
What's so wrong with just turning it in?
Why not just put a dunce cap on my head and get it over with?
And since when did I suddenly become my mother's therapist?
I don't need to know how fucked.up her life was/is.
(How did she expect me to take the news that her parents hit her?)
Oh what a j.o.y this Thanksgiving will be.
Well, I could just spend it with my father,
Who hates me even more now.
It's my fucking hair, why should I get his permission for what color to dye it?
It's not like he's a part of my life anyway.
That . . can go screw himself, and stop screwing up mine.
Why can't I just drop out/move . away/write stories/be happy?
Fate has such a sick sense of humor.