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Evil is maybe lying to God. Or better, lying to love.

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
Maybe
Lying
Evil
Better
Love
God

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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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The tongue, the Chinese say, is like a sharp knife: it kills without drawing blood.
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My eyes, those sluts, those whores, would play no more.
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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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I brush my hair, waiting in the pain machine for my bones to get hard, for the soft, soft bones that were laid apart and were screwed together. They will knit. And the other corpse, the fractured heart, I feed it piecemeal, little chalice. I'm good to it.
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Oh sharp diamond, my mother! I could not count the cost of all your faces, your moods that present that I lost. Sweet girl, my deathbed, my jewel-fingered lady...
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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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Bless all useful objects, the spoons made of bone, the mattress I cook my dreams upon, the typewriter that is my church with an altar of keys always waiting.
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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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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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It is June. I am tired of being brave.
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My mouth blooms like a cut.
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the marriage twists, holds firm, a sailor's knot.
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What a lay me down this is with two pink, two orange, two green, two white goodnights.
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I rot on the wall, my own Dorian Gray.
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Our children tremble in their teen-age cribs, whirling off on a thumb or a motorcycle.
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All in all, I'd say, the world is strangling.
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My ideas are a curse. They spring from a radical discontent with the awful order of things. I play clown. I play carpenter. I play nurse. I play witch.
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Big heart, wide as a watermelon, but wise as birth, there is so much abundance in the people I have.
Anne Sexton
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it was my first doll that water went into and water came out of much earlier it was the diaper I wore and the dirt thereof and my mother hating me for it
Anne Sexton