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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
Heart
Like
Zeppelin
Zeppelins
Kitten
Butter
Blowing
Although
Maybe

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The family story tells, and it was told true, of my great-grandfather who begat eight genius children and bought twelve almost new grand pianos. He left a considerable estate when he died.
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Evil is maybe lying to God. Or better, lying to love.
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Father, you died once, salted down at fifty-nine, packed down like a big snow angel, wasn't that enough?
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I grow old on my bitterness.
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I imitatea memory of beliefthat I do not own.
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I did not know the woman I would be nor that blood would bloom in me each month like an exotic flower, nor that children, two monuments, would break from between my legs.
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In a letter (no matter how quickly it is written or honestly or freely or lovingly) it is more possible to be loving and lovable, more possible to reach out and to take in ... I feel I have somehow deceived you into thinking this is really a human relationship. It is a letter relationship between humans.
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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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Despite my asbestos gloves, the cough is filling me with black, and a red powder seeps through my veins.
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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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I think it will be a miracle if I don't someday end up killing myself.
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Rats live on no evil star
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I am stuffing your mouth with your promises and watching you vomit them out upon my face.
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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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I tell you what you’ll never really know: all the medical hypothesis that explained my brain will never be as true as these struck leaves letting go.
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Frog has no nerves. Frog is as old as a cockroach. Frog is my father's genitals. Frog is a malformed doorknob. Frog is a soft bag of green.
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To be without God is to be a snake / who wants to swallow an elephant.
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we do not explain my husband's insane abuse and we do not say why your wild-haired wife has fled or that my father opened like a walnut and then was dead. Your palms fold over me like knees. Love is the only use.
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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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To love another is somethinglike prayer and it can't be planned, you just fallinto its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
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