Years of Struggle

I never thought I'd say this,
But I'm thankful for the pain.
I'm thankful for the tears I shed,
The nights I spent awake,
And all the days my knuckles turned white
With the tension so thick a knife could -
And would,
Cut through it.
I've been beaten down,
And forced to laid prostrate on a bed of uneven nails,
Flagellated by my own misgivings and the remembrance of my past,
While sleep evaded me and my eyes threatened to fall out.
I was forced to walk a mile on my knees,
Until they were bloody and even they thought I couldn't go on any longer.
Yet for some reason,
I smiled.
I'm thankful for the pain,
Because it helps me see the boring beauty of the world.
You know, the way the trees get tall shadows at night
Or the way I can transform such inexplicable pain into something else,
Something utterly and dazzlingly unlike the evil from where it came
God I'm thankful for the pain,
For without it, my art would not exist.

This poem is about: 
Me

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