I let the lightning strike and mess me up.
We fall and then we learn from our mistakes.
I had no time for happiness or lust.
I ventured out and came back as a saint.
I wished hard many times that you’d get hurt —
only because I knew you had to learn it.
My spirit self has never been more sadder.
Which means the best of it is yet to come.
I cannot help the pain and pity I feel.
It means I am a deeply sentient being.
I can’t imagine things ever improving.
That doesn’t mean they cannot ever happen.
I want to know the reason for the rain;
I want to know why we are not the same.
Bearing this has never been this hard,
but in some sense I know that I can do it.
(prompt form http://www.napowrimo.net — dialogue poem)