I am not my stuff ... even though the sudden loss of my primary computer,
feels like I am losing a limb.
I am not my stuff ... even though the mounting repair bills on my aging truck,
feels like the frustrating passing of an era. One when I was young and hopeful.
I am not my stuff ... even though the sudden increase in rent,
feels like a hidden rip-tide pulling at the shifting sands beneath my feet.
I am not my job ... even though the once hopeful career,
has turned in a perpetual grind of trying to pick up the slack, of those austerely let go.
I am not my age ... even though my creaking, bloated body,
taunts me with the foolish goals and dreams, of a much younger man.
I am not inequity's victim ...
when those around me have survived the cancer,
or may have passed, before their time.
I am not my stuff ... even though the trappings of life,
often convince me it's so.
I am a survivor. I am a creative problem solver.
I am a well-rounded human being. Living in a land of square slots.
"I used to complain, that I had no shoes ...
Until I met a man who had no feet."
I am not my stuff ...
Serenity now. Serenity now.
Life is still a palette, waiting to become what we make it.
It's only that -- that slate, is just not as blank, as it once used to be.
that slate is showing its age ...