Count the good–
the room to breathe,
dependable solidity
(yeah, knock on wood). . .

But feel, too, the tough–
the moments when you deeply grieve,
the pains with which you heave and seethe,
boot-shaking things
that have you shudder teeth to teeth,
the guff you get
beyond belief-
even from you,
from friends and fathers,
and too,
mothers, sisters, cats and dogs and brothers. . .

So, yeah, remark, take note,
and learn
from all that stuff–
the stuff that really feels bad. . .

look there, too,
look hard, for lurking there
is stuff that’s of a different color
than the general black, grim gray or blue,
between the cracks
where stuff can fall,
and find some good that’s grown from bad,
that took you years until you finally understood. . .

And you’ll come
to have a grip
on all the stuff
that powers you
along your way,
to move yet forth
and light your path,
quite likely more
than anyone can see or say,
that will help dawn
each next new day
that sees you feeling
so much more
than wondrously
and gratefully
and deeply glad.

Even if,
to someone else
it looks as if
you’ve got no more
than the same stuff
that you already had.

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