Problems

Poem on problems, who really cares about ours?

No matter how catastrophic the event
That which we believe to matter
Matters to none at all, but only to us.
Our feelings being objectified as overzealous or unjust
Our problems being caused by Octuple winged wombats
And other such figurative-magical creatures
For problems caused by something so seemingly fictional
Cannot really be problems at all
Our attitudes towards life omitted as petulant or ignorant
What happens to us, is really a drop in the storm
should we really just get over our trifling conundrums?
And move on to something better? Or is there nothing better?
Is a life where nothing matters, really a life at all?