Bombs, starvation and neglect. That's their everyday routine.
Singing, screaming and unable to survive. They still smile. They still hold on.

Shelter, food and a bed. That's my everyday routine.
Sadness, self pity and a life. That's me. Unable to feel grateful for what I have, for the lack of bombs reigning terror on the streets outside. For the food I eat and the shoes on my feet, I shall never be grateful.

Not because I don't want to. But because I don't know how. I don't know how or who I should thank. Or how to pay them back In return. Is that part of being grateful? Is that the thanks I crave so hard to give?

I guess I'll never know. I'll stick to my self pity as their torn to shreds. Mentally and physically, people all over the world suffering. Yet I cry because my beds too hard or there's a pothole in the road, I want to feel grateful but I guess my need to complain surpasses that.
I guess acknowledging I should be grateful is a start. But that won't stop me from wanting that car or that brand new apartment. I blame humanity, the way we're built. If I want to be grateful that much, why am I still wasting?

Half a plate of food in the bin, or a piece of cake instead of a donation? Everyday I waste. Everyday I tell myself I want to feel grateful.
I guess the truth is. I'll never be grateful, or maybe I will. But only for a split second before I get indulged in the life that others crave so much.

Do I really want to be grateful? Or am I just telling myself that because I'm clinging to the belief that I'm a good person?

The End

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