Anne Sexton
Anne Sexton
Anne Sextonwas an American poet, known for her highly personal, confessional verse. She won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1967 for her book Live or Die. Themes of her poetry include her long battle against depression and mania, suicidal tendencies, and various intimate details from her private life, including her relationships with her husband and children...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth9 November 1928
CityNewton, MA
CountryUnited States of America
Love your self's self where it lives.
Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.
Talk to me about sadness. I talk about it too much in my own head but I never mind others talking about it either; I occasionally feel like I tremendously need others to talk about it as well.
If I could blame it on all the mothers and fathers of the world, they of the lessons, the pellets of power, they of the love surrounding you like batter ... Blame it on God perhaps? He of the first opening that pushed us all into our first mistakes? No, I'll blame it on Man For Man is God and man is eating the earth up like a candy bar and not one of them can be left alone with the ocean for it is known he will gulp it all down. The stars (possibly) are safe. At least for the moment. The stars are pears that no one can reach, even for a wedding. Perhaps for a death.
Suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build.
The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
I tell you what you’ll never really know: all the medical hypothesis that explained my brain will never be as true as these struck leaves letting go.
The tongue, the Chinese say, is like a sharp knife: it kills without drawing blood.
I try to take care and be gentle to them. Words and eggs must be handled with care. Once broken they are impossible things to repair.
All in all, I'd say, the world is strangling.
You lay, a small knuckle on my white bed; lay, that fist like a snail, small and strong at my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed with love. At first, hunger is not wrong.
I am teaching...It's kind of like having a love affair with a rhinoceros.
Death's in the good-bye.
Thief!- how did you crawl into, crawl down alone into the death I wanted so badly and for so long ...