People always tell you  
Life is what you make it
Then why is it the hardest working people
Get the short end of the stick?
Is the lower middle class unlucky?
Is luck passed down  
From one generation to the next?
What is luck anyway?
Some mystical force that not enough
Of us pay our tributes to?
A shooting star? A dandelion?  
A penny with one's birth year on it?
And why then does working hard not earn us
The wondrous ways of "luck"
If you ask me... And yes no one ever has
Luck is simply having the right devices
When opportunity comes knocking
We, of the lower middle class, often forget
We make our lives what they are
And we have the power  
To change our own circumstance
Without the luxuries of *“luck”