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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.

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
Really
Would
Toothbrushes
Poem
Poet
Able
Everything
Come

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I think if I had done anything else I would like to have been a doctor. This is the sort of polar opposition to being a writer, I suppose.
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I wonder about all the roads not taken and am moved to quote Frost...but won't. It is sad to be able only to mouth other poets. I want someone to mouth me.
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I must be lean & write & make worlds beside this to live in.
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Sometimes I feel so stupid and dull and uncreative that I am amazed when people tell me differently.
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You cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time.
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I knew you'd decide to be all right again.
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I am what I feel and think and do.
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I dream too much, work too little.
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What I want back is what I was Before the bed, before the knife, Before the brooch-pin and the salve Fixed me in this parenthesis Horses fluent in the wind, A place, a time gone out of mind.
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If I have a dry spell ... I wait and live harder, eyes, ears, and heart open, and when the productive time comes, it is that much richer.
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There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.
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I think I am worthwhile just because I have optical nerves and can try to put down what they perceive. What a fool!
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I hurl my heart to halt his pace.
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Every day is precious and I feel infinitely sad at this time melting away from me.
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I must not be selfless: develop a sense of self. A solidness that can't be attacked.
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I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love.
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I wanted to do everything once and for all and be through with it.
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They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
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Is anyone anywhere happy?
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