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Why is it that some of us are able to cope under pressure?
Why is it that some of us are not affected by ‘Life’?
Why is it that when an obvious storm is upon us, some of us cower, while some of us prepare our sparkly Wellingtons and raincoats and get ready to dance?
Why, when faced with the same shit, do some of us adjust while the others resist change and suffer rather than grow?
Why do you allow yourself to break, so?
What is it that you’re waiting for?
The World spins on, tossing all of us about –
So who do you think will stop to lift you off the ground?
You have the strength, right?
So why do you fail to rise?
When we stretched out our hands for you
You sat there confidently and refused
And when we got swept away by the current of our lives
You raged out in accusation, blaming us for your denial –
What is it, that allows some to grow – mature?
What is it that stays some in routine’s allure?
What keeps me from joining that conversation
Yet has me putting pen to paper in literary communication?
Why did you wait for your fortune to be lost
Before you appreciated the good luck that you got
Why did you keep moving onward into your pain
When you knew with each step forward
You were closer to being too late to turn back again . . ?

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