I tend to believe every poem I write will be my last. Maybe that’s because this one was my first, and I know I’ll never write another one that turns me inside out the way it does. I still tear up when I read it.
Many things in my life had gone horribly wrong. My condition technically qualified as survival, but didn’t much resemble it. (You might recognize this as Step 8 of my novel-writing program.) Then someone tried to tell me that the torment I was suffering was part of God’s plan to test me, and that I should look to the example of Job for guidance.
It was the most viscerally offensive thing I had ever heard. I went home and wrote the poem you find below.
In the twelve or so years since I wrote it, only three or four people have seen it. But it’s not unrelated to my recent lamentation, so I think it’s finally time to let it out. It has the title it does because every time someone says that, this poem is the answer I want to give them.
Everything Happens for a Reason
I wish there was a God
I need someone to blame
My enemies are nothing
too childish, too tiny to deserve
the destruction they have caused.
No, give me Someone
Worth the pain of hating
Then I will shake
this broken corner of creation
I will scream fire at the sky
and call Him out of hiding
To fight me to the death.