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Poetry is and has always been a friend Sometimes I feel though, it will come to an end My thoughts are abundant and plenty to hear But when I see other words, I begin to have fear
Dear Sylvia Plath, Let me lift the bell jar from your eyes, flame-red strands dropping to your shoulders, oxygen returning to your lips. I want you to place your fingers on your heart, and listen.
Sylvia, I never knew you But I feel like I did. They never knew you, either And they feel the same. The difference is that They're wrong.
I dipped my toes into the cold water it was pleasant it reminded me of my heart I thought it did, I thought it did but it didn't it wasn't really my heart My heart was gold
Do you make wishes at 11:11Do you plan from 11:09 When your hope bubbles over andAll of your troubles and desires File into a line where the biggest dream races practicality for a spot in the frontAnd converts to words soon to be evaporated into a
A pastiche inspired by Sylvia Plath’s Cut
Here I amHere I standAwaiting for some form of affectionHere I amHere I standWanting "a life where everything is good"Here I wasHere I stoodLooking at people of past
“I brush away the shadows and all the stars leave cries; I kiss you good night and all is calm again; (I believe my love for you extends to the skies.)