I heard someone ask once if I was a little thankful for the pain since it lended to new writing material. As though I should be happy for hurting since it threw words into this creative outlet. Perhaps I should send thank you gifts to anyone who ever caused me pain since I used it for the poetry. But in all seriousness, my answer to that would be no. More than that though. I would say:
Take the words. Take every single one. Take my heart, my hands, my pen. Take the ink, all of the paper, take my voice too. Take all of it away forever if it means I don’t get to keep the pain. Because trust me when I tell you the pain is much heavier than the words could ever try to be. That pain.. I could not write words to adequately do it justice. The words I write are not even a fraction of how much it really hurt. So, no.. I am not thankful for the pain. I don’t give thanks to pain. I give thanks to lessons and even then, I thank myself for being the one who had to learn each one. Word for word. The pain was never pretty, but sometimes the ink lends beauty to the words, turning the pain into something better than it would be if it just lingered inside. I am thankful for being able to make the pain seem less ugly, but there’s a massacre inside… that only stops crying, when it’s not laughing at me.
Thanks for asking.