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I felt the first man I slept with must be intelligent, so I could respect him.

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
Respect
Felt
Firsts
First
Must
Men
Slept
Intelligent

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Piece by piece, I fed my wardrobe to the night wind, and flutteringly, like a loved one’s ashes, the gray scraps were ferried off, to settle here, there, exactly where I would never know, in the dark heart of New York.
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God, it was good to let go, let the tight mask fall off, and the bewildered, chaotic fragments pour out. It was the purge, the catharsis.
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If I rest, if I think inward, I go mad.
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I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly, as the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands. I am nobody I have nothing to do with explosions.
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I want to kill myself, to escape from responsiblity, to crawl abjectly back into the womb.
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A skeptic, I would ask for consistency first of all.
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The sky leans on me, me, the one upright among all horizontals.
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They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
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If only I knew what I wanted I could try to see about getting it.
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The silence between us was so profound I thought part of it must be my fault.
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There is a certain unique and strange delight about walking down an empty street alone. There is an off-focus light cast by the moon, and the streetlights are part of the spotlight apparatus on a bare stage set up for you to walk through. You get a feeling of being listened to, so you talk aloud, softly, to see how it sounds.
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