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 Sep 2015 Giselle W
Sylvia Plath
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.
Once there was a princess,
Locked within a tower
Far older than the common heroine,
Past the flush of youth and farther
She spent her days sat against the wall,
The window another reminder of her capture
And too great the allure of a fall to befell her
A vial sat beside her bed, an aid for sleep so enticing,
Spent hours pacing, contemplating the label,
Still she was unable
Her voice her only tonic in the tower
Ill one day and rasping, flushed and crawling tipped it
To lips and throat gasping,
Took her songs whole

Now many years mute and crying,
Heard a man beneath the tower climbing,
But she had no will to go,
And the prince had found his princess too old.
 Jul 2015 Giselle W
grace
a blank canvas
warped and worn
painted over
with colors of bruises
with colors of war
tender to the touch
still not completely dry
set me aside
paint a new layer
again and again
make me your masterpiece
but below the neck

— The End —