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And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself

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
Forgotten
Still
Sin
Magic
Alone
Talking
Noisy
Queen
Lost
Queens
Beautiful
Sins
Stills

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The soul was not cured, it was as full as a clothes closet of dresses that did not fit.
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I am out of practice at living. You are as brave as a motorcycle.
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The trouble with therapy is that it makes life go backwards.
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And thus Snow White became the prince's bride. The wicked queen was invited to the wedding feast and when she arrived there were red-hot iron shoes, in the manner of red-hot roller skates, clamped upon her feet.
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being sixteen in the pants I died full of questions
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My sleeping pill is white. It is a splendid pearl it floats me out of myself, my stung skin as alien as a loose bolt of cloth.
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Evil is maybe lying to God. Or better, lying to love.
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The snow has quietness in it no songs, no smells, no shouts or traffic. When I speak my own voice shocks me.
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For forty days, for forty nights Jesus put one foot in front of the other and the man he carried, if it was a man, became heavier and heavier.
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Dead drunk is the term I think of, insensible, neither cool nor warm, without a head or a foot. To be drunk is to be intimate with a fool.
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Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.
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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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I love you. You are closest to my heart, closer than any other human being. You are my extension. You are my prayer. You are my belief in God. For better or worse you inherit me.
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Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.
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All considerations for these human remains! They must have an escort! They are classified!
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