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Maybe, although my heart is a kitten of butter, I am blowing it up like a zeppelin.

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
Blowing
Although
Maybe
Heart
Like
Zeppelin
Zeppelins
Kitten
Butter

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I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found.
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I'll Vacuum up my stale hair, I'll pay all my neighbors' bad debts, I'll write a poem called Yellow and put my lips down to drink it up.
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I grow old on my bitterness.
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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 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 sit at my desk each night with no place to go, opening the wrinkled maps of Milwaukee and Buffalo, the whole U.S., its cemeteries, its arbitrary time zones, through routes like small veins, capitals like small stones.
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When the cow gives blood and the Christ is born we must all eat sacrifices. We must all eat beautiful women.
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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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What's missing is the eyeballs in each of us, but it doesn't matter because you've got the bucks, the bucks, the bucks.
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Now I am going back And I have ripped my hand From your hand as I said I would And I have made it this far.
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Suddenly I'm not half the girl I used to be. There's a shadow hanging over me . . . From me to you out of my electric devil.
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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'm an empress. I wear an apron. My typewriter writes. It didn't break the way it warned. Even crazy, I'm as nice as a chocolate bar.
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After a disaster strikes, it can be very devastating and very challenging. You're going to need a lot of strength and energy, and the American Red Cross suggests you go for the high protein items.
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women are born twice.
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When I'm writing, I know I'm doing the thing I was born to do.
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Only my books anoint me, and a few friends, those who reach into my veins.
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Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.
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Poets are sitting in my kitchen. Why do these poets lie? Why do children get children and Did you hear what it said?
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