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Death, I need my little addiction to you. I need that tiny voice who, even as I rise from the sea, all woman, all there, says kill me, kill me.

Anne Sexton

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Anne Sexton
Age: 45 †
Born: 1928
Born: November 9
Died: 1974
Died: October 4
Poet
Writer
Newton
Massachusetts
Anne Gray Harvey
Woman
Death
Addiction
Littles
Rise
Little
Tiny
Need
Sea
Needs
Kill
Even
Says
Voice

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They [daisies] are my favorite flower. There is something innocent and vulnerable about them as if they thanked you for admiring them.
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Emerald as heavy as a golf course, ruby as dark as an afterbirth, diamond as white as sun on the sea.
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My death from the wrists, two name tags, blood worn like a corsage to bloom one on the left and one on the right.
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You who have inhabited me in the deepest and most broken place, are going, going
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I think of myself as writing for one person, that one perfect reader who understands and loves.
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Everyone in me is a bird I am beating all my wings
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To tell the truth days are all the same size and words aren't much company.
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The grass as bristly and stout as chives and me wondering when the ground will break and me wondering how anything fragile survives
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And within the house ashes are being stuffed into my marriage, fury is lapping the walls, dishes crack on the shelves, a strangler needs my throat, the daughter has ceased to eat anything.
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My heart is on a budget. It keeps me on the brink.
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Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.
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Blind with love, my daughter has cried nightly for horses, those long-necked marchers and churners that she has mastered, any and all, reigning them in like a circus hand.
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Somebody who should have been born is gone.
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The joy that isn't shared dies young.
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We are America. We are the coffin fillers. We are the grocers of death. We pack them in crates like cauliflowers.
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I would like a simple life / yet all night I am laying / poems away in a long box.
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Watch out for intellect, because it knows so much it knows nothing and leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing knowledge as your heart falls out of your mouth.
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True. There is a beautiful Jesus. He is frozen to his bones like a chunk of beef. How desperately he wanted to pull his arms in! How desperately I touch his vertical and horizontal axes! But I can't. Need is not quite belief.
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I will be steel! I will build a steel bridge over my need! I will build a bomb shelter over my heart! But my future is a secret. It is as shy as a mole.
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I am alone here in my own mind. There is no map and there is no road. It is one of a kind just as yours is.
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