Blessed
All my poems are rants and complaints
Trailing words highlighting my inner sadness
But its time I realize how blessed I am
Roof over my head
Food at my disposal
Hair on my head
Vision, movement, good health
A car, books, a great school
I've got it good
So why am I sad?
I wish I knew the answer.
My sadness angers me because it should not be
With all these gifts of gold I should not have to be told
I am blessed.
My problems are trivial
Simple and silly
So why do I let them overpower me?