My hunched back,

sore and lifeless body.

As my eyes close and all around me is

darkened, i see myself doing the mundane

tasks of morning.

My head spins and as my heart beats as fast

as it slows down, i become numb.

Sunrise, Sunset

The dust on the windowsill is collecting

tiny pieces of what we had.

As the room starts to spin you’re

right here with me, beside me

a breathe.

Inhale and exhale as you used to say

with your furry brows and clean stare

right into my soul.

Maybe it’s all make believe

maybe i’ve lost it all, lost hope

maybe i’m where i’m supposed to

be.

Sylvia Plath reads Lady Lazarus

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
0 my enemy.
Do I terrify?----

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash ---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

 

Day 2

I hate that it’s getting darker faster. My eyes are slowly getting heavier as if a tiny thread is sewing them shut.

My mind is somewhere else. Maybe it’s the sickness that is creeping up on me that is forcing my brain to swirl.

 

my hole

I can’t say if i’ve dug my own hole. I guess it’s better to say that life has dug my hole and i partially helped dig it. But now that i look down that hole…i see that i’m  still in it. And the funny thing is, is no matter how much i talk about this thing, i really don’t want to help myself out of this godforsaken hole. Yes i agree with all my faults and flaws and i don’t deny any of it, at all.  I actually think i embrace it all.

I’m okay with what will most likely happen in the future. Why?

Because it is how i have been living, all my life.

Day 1

What a beautiful day! The sun is shining and the brisk cold winds are blowing beautiful hats away. As i sit in the corner at my work desk in the oldest building on campus, my hands are starting to shake…or have been shaking actually. I don’t know why but it is starting to worry me.

So many whimsical thoughts are running through my brain today. Like colorful cutouts to tape to my crisp white walls and hanging beauties from the ceiling.

Adding to all the excitement is the sushi dinner i will be having tonight.

 

i have a list

In my mind i have a list of things to do, yet i haven’t touched one thing. Elaborate plans that are whimsical and that i yearn to bring alive, yet i haven’t lifted a finger. It is like an invisible string that is tied low to the ground in my mind in that if i walk forward, i will trip and fall into a hole of nothing-ness. Of course this isn’t real. Then why can’t i do it? Just do it i say, but again, nothing.

My mind is beginning to swirl.