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Slowly, slowly, catch the monkey.

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
Monkey
Monkeys
Slowly
Catch

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I talk to God but the sky is empty.
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The box is only temporary.
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I said: I must remember this, being small.
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The blood of love welled up in my heart with a slow pain.
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If there's anything I look down on, it's a man in a blue outfit.
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I am what I feel and think and do.
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Life was not to be sitting in hot amorphic leisure in my backyard idly writing or not writing, as the spirit moved me. It was, instead, running madly, in a crowded schedule, in a squirrel cage of busy people. Working, living, dancing, dreaming, talking, kissing- singing, laughing, learning.
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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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The sickness rolled through me in great waves. After each wave it would fade away and leave me limp as a wet leaf and shivering all over and then I would feel it rising up in me again, and the glittering white torture chamber tiles under my feet and over my head and all four sides closed in and squeezed me to pieces.
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I am dead to them, even though I once flowered.
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