I Am From Another Place by Corey Davis

Published by jbarnes on

*Note from the moderator: We here at the BSU greatly value the God-given gifts of our students and encourage them to use those gifts in creative and innovative ways.  This week, please enjoy a poem by our very own Corey Davis.  


Photo Credit: Kaitlin Flowers


I Am From Another Place

“Therefore, since you have been raised with Christ, strive for the things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God…” Colossians 3:1-3


Wouldnʼt it be great to look in a mirror and see—

Wouldnʼt it be great to not look in a mirror?

Not even to break them, because you can still spot the inadequacies and the incapacities and the

screw-ups of your skin cells in the tiniest shards

Not even to bury them, because the ground can still sink at any moment and spit them back out

across the sidewalk to trip you up at the sight of your own nose

Not even to paint over them, because midnight black still chips and rain still rains and so does


But just donʼt look

Even though windows sometimes throw our own reflections back at us when what we really want

to see is a tranquil parking lot

(Even as I check my hair in the reflection of my laptop screen)


When did I forget that I am from another place?


I hate my humanness

Correct statement: I wish I hated it more

I wish I didnʼt beg to be loved by a world that does not know what that is

Itʼs like asking a mechanic to perform your heart transplant

(Hey, maybe heʼll get it right, maybe not, either way itʼs close, right?)

While heʼs ramming a spark plug into your sternum, rattling it to mimic a pulse

I wish I didnʼt agree to numb myself every day

Walking out of the door already watered down

Every footstep stomping out the meteors that fire off me on my way to class

As if to hide the fact that I never stop igniting, the burning bush of I Am, who doesnʼt have

identity crises like I do, like I am


How did I forget that I am from another place?


I wish that I despised the box that I consciously stuff my body inside (heart included)

I madly want to fit into this world

Itʼs like trying to fit into a pair of jeans that are too small, cheaply made, and not even your color

Go ahead and suck in, but itʼll just hurt and youʼll just look like a puffy idiot


Where did I get off telling myself that this exam is my name? That this presentation is my five-star rating, this project is

my rave review?  This assessment of limited knowledge that is undesirable compared to the One who invented



Where did I get off agreeing that this lifestyle is life? As not to ruffle any feathers, not to offend my intellectual peers,

unconfrontational, pacifistic, so I donʼt turn out to be the ignorant product of Deep-South Jesus gibberish Iʼm afraid

they think I am


Where did I get off shoveling doubt into my system like ice cream after a bad day?

And that goes for myself, and for You


When did I forget that, when I am with You, I could stand there, sit there, lay there, fly there


When did I replace that feeling of indescribable feeling with intelligence wearing an end,

calculations ceased by punctuation, with facts corralled in fences, my smart-girl spectacles

straightened perfectly?

When did I suppress the urge to roar my praise, fling love out of myself and at You with a

desperation, remind myself of the truth that the best thoughts I have are always about their



I am from out of this space (which is bigger: a galaxy or a universe?)

I am frescoed by the Fatherʼs fingerprints

A voice speaking the color and expression and individuality of Godʼs breath

A heart that is red for a reason and, physically, itʼs my blood

But actually itʼs not my blood at all; itʼs His, and itʼs a house key

For a Prodigal Son complex that He has eradicated to adopt me back. . .home


Wouldnʼt it be great to break a mirror?

To spot the mysteries and the beauty and the prophecies of your skin cells even in the fractures

Wouldnʼt it be great to bury a mirror?

To watch it resurrect like a dead man out of a grave and see your own face glowing in the

sunlight again

Wouldnʼt it be great to paint over a mirror?

Because midnight black still chips like sin under Godʼs sander

And rain still rains and washes clean, a natural Windex

And so does impermanence, because this is not my body, my place, or my name at all

Wonʼt it be great to get to heaven and look in a mirror and realize that, oh, itʼs my Fatherʼs face,

and, oh, itʼs my face too, and, oh, now I really see.



Corey Davis is a freshman from Clinton, Mississippi. She is an English major, and is a part of the Sally McDonnell Barksdale Honors College and the BSU Drama Team. She enjoys having great ideas and then going after them. Also, she likes avocados. 

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