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My mouth blooms like a cut.

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
Blooms
Mouth
Kissing
Mouths
Cutting
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More quotes by Anne Sexton

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The body is a damn hard thing to kill.
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When someone kisses someone or flushes the toilet it is my other who sits in a ball and cries. My other beats a tin drum in my heart. My other hangs up laundry as I try to sleep. My other cries and cries and cries when I put on a cocktail dress.
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... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.
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Here in the hospital, I say,that is not my body, not my body.I am not here for the doctorsto read like a recipe.
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All I wanted was a little piece of life, to be married, to have children.... I was trying my damnedest to lead a conventional life, for that was how I was brought up, and it was what my husband wanted of me. But one can't build little white picket fences to keep the nightmares out.
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Watch out for love (unless it is true, and every part of you says yes including the toes), it will wrap you up like a mummy, and your scream won't be heard and none of your running will run.
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I would like a simple life / yet all night I am laying / poems away in a long box.
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One of my secret instructions to myself as a poet is Whatever you do, don't be boring.
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True. There is a beautiful Jesus. He is frozen to his bones like a chunk of beef. How desperately he wanted to pull his arms in! How desperately I touch his vertical and horizontal axes! But I can't. Need is not quite belief.
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Love your self's self where it lives.
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Once upon a time we were all born, popped out like jelly rolls forgetting our fishdom, the pleasuring seas, the country of comfort, spanked into the oxygens of death.
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Now I am just an elderly lady who is full of spleen, who humps around greater Boston in a God-awful hat, who never lived and yet outlived her time, hating men and dogs and Democrats.
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The future is a fog that is still hanging out over the sea, a boat that floats home or does not.
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No one to hate except the slim fish of memory that slides in and out of my brain.
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Letters are false really - they are expressions of the way you wish you were instead of the way you are.
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I who was a house full of bowel movement, I who was a defaced altar, I who wanted to crawl toward God could not move nor eat bread.
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Don't bite till you know if it's bread or stone.
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You who have inhabited me in the deepest and most broken place, are going, going
Anne Sexton
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Poems aren't postcards to send home.
Anne Sexton
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I think it will be a miracle if I don't someday end up killing myself.
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