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#The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath
mournfulroses · 1 month
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Sylvia Plath, from The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath; "Three Women," (edited)
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hairtusk · 9 months
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lovingsylvia · 1 year
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"What I want back is what I was"
-Sylvia Plath, from "The Eye-Mote", 1959, in The Colossus and Other Poems, 1960
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adrasteiax · 2 years
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She is a small island, asleep and peaceful,
Sylvia Plath, from Three Women in “The Collected Poems Of Sylvia Plath”
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indecisivegloom · 1 month
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romarisea · 6 months
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Sylvia Plath, from Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices [ID in alt text]
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ivynightshade · 3 months
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fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am tired of making a religion out of my suffering’.
[text id: i am too little, and too much, and never enough.]
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derangedrhythms · 8 months
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In the month of red leaves I climb to a bed of fire.
Sylvia Plath, Collected Poems; from ‘Poem for a Birthday’
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majestativa · 6 months
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The slime of all my yesterdays rots in the hollow of my skull.
— Sylvia Plath, The Collected Poems, (1981)
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moonlitfairytale · 18 days
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Sylvia Plath
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lovingsylvia · 8 months
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Frog Autumn
Summer grows old, cold-blooded mother. The insects are scant, skinny. In these palustral homes we only Croak and wither.
Mornings dissipate in somnolence. The sun brightens tardily Among the pithless reeds. Flies fail us. The fen sickens.
Frost drops even the spider. Clearly The genius of plenitude Houses himself elsewhwere. Our folk thin Lamentably.
--Sylvia Plath, written 1958, in: The Collected Poems, 1981
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rosarysgarden · 1 month
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fatima aamer bilal, from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am your mould, but the shape of you is true absence, leaving me purposeless.’
[text id: your clavicle is touching mine and / i am holy because of it.]
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romarisea · 2 months
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Sylvia Plath, from “The Jailer.” [ID in alt text]
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ivynightshade · 2 months
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fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘we were put on this earth desperate, hungry and willing.’
[text id: in a sharp set of knives, i looked for a hand to hold. / i could not stop myself from needing to belong somewhere, even if that somewhere was a burial ground.]
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louisegluck · 2 years
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Sylvia Plath, from “Poem for a Birthday: Who.” [ID in alt text]
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deadpoetneenzs · 11 months
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