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I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here.

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
Fossil
Numb
Fossils
Lean
Tell

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I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.
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Let's face it: I'm scared, scared and frozen. First, I guess, I'm afraid for myself...the old primitive urge for survival. It's getting so I live every moment with terrible intensity.
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And I sit here without identity: faceless. My head aches.
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I knew you'd decide to be all right again.
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I am sure there are things that can't be cured by a good bath but I can't think of one.
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And you grit your teeth, despising yourself for your tremulous sensitivity, and wondering how human beings can suffer their individualities to be mercilessly crushed under a machinelike dictatorship, be it of industry, state or organization, all their lives long.
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It never occurred to me to say no.
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I think I may well be a Jew.
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I have to live my life, and it is the only one I’ll ever have.
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You are a dream I hope I never meet you.
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I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty. How free it is, you have no idea how free—— The peacefulness is so big it dazes you, And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets. It is what the dead close on, finally I imagine them Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.
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I am solitary as grass. What is it I miss? Shall I ever find it, whatever it is?
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The slime of all my yesterdays rots in the hollow of my skull.
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A fierce brief fusion which dreamers call real, and realists, an illusion an insight like the flight of birds.
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There is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get.
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I must be lean & write & make worlds beside this to live in.
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I am still raw. I say I may be back. You know what lies are for. Even in your Zen heaven we shan't meet.
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I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks.
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I collected men with interesting names. I already knew a Socrates. He was tall and ugly and intellectual and the son of some big Greek movie producer in Hollywood, but also a Catholic, which ruined it for both of us.
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Doing all the little tricky things it takes to grow up, step by step, into an anxious and unsettling world.
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