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I do not know who I am tonight.

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
Tonight

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For me, poetry is an evasion of the real job of writing prose.
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There is so much hurt in this game of searching for a mate, of testing, trying. And you realize suddenly that you forgot it was a game, and turn away in tears.
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I started adding up all the things I couldn't do.
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I had hoped, at my departure, I would feel sure and knowledgeable about everything that lay ahead -- after all, I had been analyzed. Instead, all I could see were question marks.
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I talk to God but the sky is empty.
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Sometimes I feel like I'm not solid. I'm hollow. There's nothing behind my eyes. I'm a negative of a person. All I want is blackness, blackness and silence.
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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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Joy:show joy & enjoy: then others will be joyful.
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The silence drew off, baring the pebbles and shells and all the tatty wreckage of my life.
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I am disabused of all faith, and see too clearly.
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Well, I know now. I know a little more how much a simple thing like a snowfall can mean to a person
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Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements.
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Beached under the spumy blooms, we lie Sea-sick and fever-dry.
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August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.
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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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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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My worst habit is my fear & my destructive rationalizing.
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Poetry, I feel, is a tyrannical discipline. You've got to go so far, so fast, in such a small space, that you've got to burn away all the peripherals.
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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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Then I thought, No, I broke it myself. I broke it on purpose to pay myself back for being such a heel.
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