Blackness and Silence . .
Curly hair and
tired eyes,
I burnt like sun
day and night.
Indigo spilled
over the papers.
Crushed, burned
and razed!
I cherish still
our Coriander love.
Fresh and Edible.
Leaves begin to turn brown and blow away . .
Corrosion
touching my hollowness,
I think "I am not Solid"
Look into my famished eyes
and say -
Am I the same fish!
Smell and say!!
I tried to drown myself once. I swam out in the sea as far as I could, but it just spat me out like a cork. I guess it didn't want me . . .
Truth came to me,
truth loves me
You were responsible
for my life,
You are responsible
for my death.
Oh, yes Ted!
Caressing the 'Ariel', you called me back . .
"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."
~Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar, Chapter 7.
Curly hair and
tired eyes,
I burnt like sun
day and night.
Indigo spilled
over the papers.
Crushed, burned
and razed!
I cherish still
our Coriander love.
Fresh and Edible.
Leaves begin to turn brown and blow away . .
Corrosion
touching my hollowness,
I think "I am not Solid"
Look into my famished eyes
and say -
Am I the same fish!
Smell and say!!
I tried to drown myself once. I swam out in the sea as far as I could, but it just spat me out like a cork. I guess it didn't want me . . .
Truth came to me,
truth loves me
You were responsible
for my life,
You are responsible
for my death.
Oh, yes Ted!
Caressing the 'Ariel', you called me back . .
"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."
~Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar, Chapter 7.
