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?