DEAR ANNE SEXTON:  05-14-10

Dear Anne:

You were so precocious as a child,
needing to be the center of attention.
Yet you were very, very sick inside.
Such a tragedy when you died.

I look at your beautiful face,
And I wonder what you did not see.
There were not enough accolades
to fill your soul’s empty space.

The ache of loneliness resonates
throughout your expressions;
in your pictures, your poems, your letters.
My heart is breaking, I feel just like you.

You saw yourself as a stranger.
I see you as someone I love.
My feelings, you express so well.
My sorrow is complete, you are now above.

Dear Anne.

Tormented demons forced you blind
to your natural beauty of yourself.
God, I wish I could turn back time.
You left so much behind

I wish I could talk to you.
I wish I could convey
That life is full of pain, yes.
But bearable if one maintains
a true survival instinct.

The wish to leave must be turned aside.
You were alone, a small boat, lost in the sea.
Your attempts to survive were thwarted.
Your mind convinced you otherwise.

I will never forget your struggle,
It resonates within me.
You called yourself “a bag of bones”
Yet you attracted anyone you wanted.

Your flirtatiousness was infectious.
Boys flocked to you as you played
a game of “want me, but don’t need me”…

Your words are torturous and keen.
I miss you. You explained me.
I wish I could tell you how much you mean to me.

But it’s too late.
You never even knew me.
In 1974, you killed yourself.
I was fourteen.

I’ve attempted the same since I was fifteen.
God must have a purpose for me.
Or maybe He likes my suffering,

You succeeded.
Was it guts? Cowardice?
Illness or madness?
What did you see?

Are you at peace now?
Do you now have the peace I crave
to stop my crawling stomach?

The pain is great, almost overwhelming…
Why did you succeed instead of me?
(Dedicated to Anne Sexton, 1928-1974 RIP)