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I felt the mask crumple, the great poisonous store of corrosive ashes begin to spew out of my mouth.
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
Great
Ashes
Store
Mask
Stores
Mouth
Crumple
Mouths
Spew
Begin
Corrosive
Felt
Poisonous
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we walk the plank with strangers.
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But I am I now and so many other millions are so irretrievably their own special variety of 'I' that I can hardly bear to think of it. I: how firm a letter how reassuring the three strokes: one vertical, proud and assertive, and then the two short horizontal lines in quick, smug succession. The pen scratching on the paper…I…I…I…I…I…I.
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I have let things slip, a thirty-year~old cargo boat Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.
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I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretended it was night. I couldn't see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.
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I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here.
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So much working, reading, thinking, living to do! A lifetime is not long enough.
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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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I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks or a champion college footballer suddenly confronted by Wall Street and a business suit, his days of glory shrunk to a little gold cup on his mantel with a date engraved on it like the date on a tombstone.
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And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.
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Perhaps you considered yourself an oracle, Mouthpiece of the dead, or of some god or other. Thirty years now I have labored To dredge the silt from your throat. I am none the wiser.
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I wonder why I don't go to bed and go to sleep. But then it would be tomorrow, so I decide that no matter how tired, no matter how incoherent I am, I can skip on hour more of sleep and live.
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I need the reality of other people, work, to fulfill myself. Must never become a mere mother and housewife.
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As a poet I would say everything should be able to come into a poem but I can't put toothbrushes in a poem. I really can't.
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I have stitched life into me like a rare organ
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