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I used to pray to recover you.

Sylvia Plath

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Sylvia Plath
Age: 30 †
Born: 1932
Born: October 27
Died: 1963
Died: February 11
Autobiographer
Diarist
Essayist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Boston
Massachusetts
Victoria Lucas
Sylvia Plath Hughes
Recover
Pray
Praying
Used

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Slowly, slowly, catch the monkey.
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I feel occasionally my skull will crack, fatigue is continuous - I only go from less exhausted to more exhausted & back again.
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And there's the fallacy of existence: the idea that one could be happy forever and age with a given situation or series of accomplishments.
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God has to remind us this isn't heaven by a long shot, so he increases the radios and lethal flies.
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My worst habit is my fear & my destructive rationalizing.
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I couldn’t see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.
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I don't know what started me, I just wrote poetry from the time was quite small. I guess I liked nursery rhymes and I guess I thought I could do the same thing. I wrote my first poem, my first published poem, when I was eight-and-a-half years old. It came out in The Boston Traveller and from then on, I suppose, I've been a bit of a professional.
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I do not fear it: I have been there.
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What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid.
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I felt the first man I slept with must be intelligent, so I could respect him.
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But when I took up my pen, my hand made big, jerky letters like those of a child, and the lines sloped down the page from left to right horizontally, as if they were loops of string lying on the paper, and someone had come along and blown them askew.
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I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am.
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How can I tell Bob that my happiness streams from having wrenched a piece out of my life, a piece of hurt and beauty, and transformed it to typewritten words on paper? How can he know I am justifying my life, my keen emotions, my feeling, by turning it into print?
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Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.
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Then I decided I would spend the summer writing a novel. That would fix a lot of people.
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The box is only temporary.
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Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.
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You are the one. Solid the spaces lean on, envious. You are the baby in the barn.
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