It has taken me so long to understand
that I deserve to be touched softly
& longer to learn to lay beneath
your hands without shaking like a leaf.
Most days, I play music constantly
for fear of being alone with my thoughts
that are so often intrusive & always seem
to be out to get me. When I was hospitalized
I smuggled in an iPod & I credit it with my survival.
Because I was raised without a god, I always thought
I couldn’t pray, but now I think maybe I’ve just
never been good at asking for what I need.
When I was little, I was told that if you tell anyone
what you wished for it will never come true.
I learned to hold my breath while passing graveyards
& sidestep the cracks in every sidewalk.
Before my grandparents passed, we sat
for hours listening to their records
& my grandma sang her way
through every household task.
On a good day, I think I’m a morning lark,
keeping myself company the best
way I know how. The next, I am a head case
drowning out my demons in a psych ward.
What a strange thing to believe in a devil
without also believing in a god.
God: teach me to forgive you for giving me this mind
that I love and hate by turn in equal parts.
Give me this day my daily bread & forgive me
my trespasses et cetera I am so fucking
exhausted - please send help – amen
Amy Saul-Zerby is the author of Paper Flowers, Imaginary Birds, Deep Camouflage, and Choose Your Own Beginning. Her poems have appeared in The Rumpus, The Chicago Review of Books, American Poetry Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, and elsewhere. She edits Voicemail Poems.
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