Poem: My Life

What is my life?
I guess it is:
Almost 30.
No career.
No degree.
Homeless.
Physically disabled.
Virtually alone.
Unable to work.
Alcoholic.
Cigarrette smoking.
Reading.
Listening to NPR.
Writing.
Walking.
Smoking Pot.
Unable to have a relationship.
Unable to stand the company of most people.
Depressive.
Suicidal.
Handsome.
Prone to panic attacks.
Highly medicated with powerful prescription narcotics.

I do not see a lot of options for my future.
Suicide is my favorite,
but since it has never worked in the past,
I have no reason to believe it will work now.
I'm waiting to get disability money.
Then what?
Go back to school maybe?
Shit. You see?
This is a Problem.

I spend all my time
waiting for life to get better,
but it never does,
it just passes.
Life is now.
If I can't start living
and enjoying myself right now,
then I probably never will.
Even with all the money in the world.
I always remember this on payday
when I have money,
but still feel miserable.

Even though I know this,
enjoying life is
not something I've ever been very good at.