If it wasn’t for God I’d kill myself
is a thought I had last week that I meant
to write down, but instead I cried
at realizing how true it is, that there is nothing
outside of love worth living for. No wonder
I’ve fingered death my whole life, pulled it up
to my thighs like a disease and
an armor. I buried myself alive
so no one else could. I cradled the darkest
nights in my belly, like pools
of oil, all the drowned birds
that fell out between my legs like aborted
dreams. I kissed them on their mangled beaks
and felt good about my capacity
for compassion, said yes to strangers
so that I’d feel like less of one.
I stopped believing in my own skin
in hopes that it would disappear.
I walked from one graveyard to another
until I found myself in yours,
which is to say, Hello, old friend.
Now I place so much value on death
I can’t flirt with it anymore.
I respect it fully, like the whole
person I am. Instead of grazing knives
I stab myself daily, no longer
afraid of my fear, I run naked
toward every open mouth
and recognize myself as a saint
with self-imposed shackles. I hate myself
with honesty. I shove my fist between my teeth
and gasp for air, thankful
for having been born beneath you, the weight
of your existence pressing me
into my body like a promise.
Sarah Certa is a poet & spiritual counselor. Her first full-length collection of poetry was published by University of Hell Press in 2015, & she recently released her first collection of channeled meditative quotes, From My Holographic Heart to Yours. Her next book, a poetic memoir of the healing psyche, will be published by CCM Press in 2017. Visit her website sarahcerta.com & find her on Twitter @AlienHere2Love.