I am flushed and warm.
I think I may be enormous,
I am so stupidly happy,
My wellingtons
Squelching and squelching through the beautiful red.
Love, love,
I have hung our cave with roses.
I have let things slip, a thirty-year~old cargo boat
Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.
I felt the first man I slept with must be intelligent, so I could respect him.
Sylvia PlathFeel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated, arranged and selected. I am a victim of it then, not a master.
Sylvia PlathSo many people are shut up tight inside themselves like boxes, yet they would open up, unfolding quite wonderfully, if only you were interested in them."
(Initiation)
Tag: confidence loneliness shyness
We'll act as if all this were a bad dream."
A bad dream.
To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream.
A bad dream.
I remembered everything.
I remembered the cadavers and Doreen and the story of the fig tree and Marco's diamond and the sailor on the Common and Doctor Gordon's wall-eyed nurse and the broken thermometers and the Negro with his two kinds of beans and the twenty pounds I gained on insulin and the rock that bulged between sky and sea like a gray skull.
Maybe forgetfulness, like a kind snow, would numb and cover them.
But they were part of me. They were my landscape.
I felt myself melting into the shadows like the negative of a person I'd never seen before in my life.
Sylvia PlathBut I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.)
Sylvia PlathI am I am I am.
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