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Somebody who should have been born is gone.

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
Abortion
Somebody
Gone
Born

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It's all a matter of history. Brandy is no solace. Librium only lies me down like a dead snow queen. Yes! I am still the criminal.
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Death's in the good-bye.
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Look to your heart that flutters in and out like a moth. God is not indifferent to your need. You have a thousand prayers but God has one.
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Despite my asbestos gloves, the cough is filling me with black, and a red powder seeps through my veins.
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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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Thumbs grow into my throat. I wear slaps like a spot of rouge.
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Love your self's self where it lives.
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this is no dream just my oily life where the people are alibis and the street is unfindable for an entire lifetime.
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Somebody who should have been born is gone. Yes, woman, such logic will lead to loss without death. Or say what you meant, you coward . . . this baby that I bleed.
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Take a woman talking, purging herself with rhymes, drumming words out like a typewriter, planting words in you like grass seed. You'll move off.
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I was the girl of the chain letter, the girl full of talk of coffins and keyholes, the one of the telephone bills, the wrinkled photo and the lost connections.
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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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I burn the way money burns.
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I would like to think that no one would die anymore if we all believed in daisies but the worms know better, don't they? They slide into the ear of a corpse and listen to his great sigh.
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I've grown tired of love You are the trouble with me I watch you walk right by
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As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.
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Inside many of us is a small old man who wants to get out.
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I rot on the wall, my own Dorian Gray.
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There is rust in my mouth,the stain of an old kiss.
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Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself, Counting this row and that row of moccasins Waiting on the silent shelf.
Anne Sexton