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Some women marry houses. It's another kind of skin it has a heart, a mouth, a liver and bowel movements.

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
Mouths
Liver
Marriage
Movements
Movement
Wedding
House
Houses
Another
Marry
Women
Skin
Heart
Skins
Kind
Mouth
Bowel

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So I won't hang around in my hospital shift, repeating The Black Mass and all of it. I say Live, Live because of the sun, the dream, the excitable gift.
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Our children tremble in their teen-age cribs, whirling off on a thumb or a motorcycle.
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I hoard books. They are people who do not leave.
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All who love have lied.
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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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Don’t worry if they say you’re crazy. They said that about me and yet I was saner than all of them. I knew. No matter. You know. Insane or sane, you know. It’s a good thing to know - no matter what they call it.
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Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.
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I am torn in two but I will conquer myself.
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To be without God is to be a snake / who wants to swallow an elephant.
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I have forgiven all the old actors for dying. A new one comes on with the same lines, like large white growths, in his mouth. The dancers come on from the wings, perfectly mated.
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The body is a damn hard thing to kill.
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To die whole, riddled with nothing but desire for it, is like breakfast after love.
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I leave you, home, when I'm ripped from the doorstep by commerce or fate. Then I submit to the awful subway of the world.
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My heart is on a budget. It keeps me on the brink.
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Come, my pretender, my fritter, my bubbler, my chicken biddy! Oh succulent one, it is but one turn in the road and I would be a cannibal!
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This is what poems are: with mercy for the greedy, they are the tongue's wrangle, the world's pottage, the rat's star.
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Now that I have written many words, and let out so many loves, for so many, and been altogether what I always was a woman of excess, of zeal and greed, I find the effort useless.
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I am so imperfect, can you love me when really my soul is deformed? Will you love me anyhow?
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Depression is boring, I think and I would do better to make some soup and light up the cave.
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Today life opened inside me like an egg.
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