#sylvia poems on Hello Poetry

Emma Kate Sep 21

They say I am like her,
and her,
but that is
blasphemous,
backhanded as
my sorrow must
bleed through.

Cannot make it
pretty,
there is no way
to make it
tender.
Cannot wish it into
a petal, a leaf,
there is no way
to warm the
sun.

They say I am like her,
but she is in
the dirt buried by
her own
hands-
and her hands
too!
She cried straight
into the
crypt.
Diagnosed with
the
disease of
death.

Do they also say
they hope
I end
like her,
or her,
too?

Questions I find myself stuck with when being compared to writers.

#poetry #sylvia #plath #vignette #death #confessional #ejambment #anne #sexton #contemporary

Emily Donoher May 10

I am what I am and what am I?

Perhaps      the    best of me      is behind              beyond
that          point of irreversibility           a beacon
of       inevitability           and it serves                as such

I am no longer       shiny     or     shocking     or     new
a        brown paper bag           crumpled     and      creased
milk that     sours    and      curdles        a   homesick     orphan

a     lamb   on    its   back   and    I  will   always   be    a  child
I will   always   be   a   child   I    will    always     be   a   child

Love      contorts     me             I    curve    and    twist
and       grow          larger           and            wider
I am              a flesh ball               a blush balloon
punctured by         a mere *****                I am sensitive

tuned        too tight        like my         Grandmother’s    piano
but it was     the first   I ever played     so no other     sounds right
and    I tell      my first       love      the       same        thing

I am entropy         the blaze of a sun          a deity of delusion
a fickle fig                                                 (pick, peel, devour)

I am a tear in your jeans    a loose thread     a love-sick sack
a daughter                                     (and some days, a mother)

I am tin teeth      a blade in your belly      a hive in your head
a feeble fawn                                                      (a black bull)

I am an amalgamation of       deficiency     and         divinity
coarse and common as coal        I am the     sun    the nether
the shade under the rock         I am nothing       nothing at all

#identity #mental #health #sylvia #plath #poetry

Carlo C Gomez Dec 2023

Pieces of Sylvia

~
She stands on the roof of the world, a ship in a bottle. She likes to wave at passing boats, inviting 120 volts to raise their sails.

Words unbosomed -- her attempt of blotting out the sun and those bloodletting habits.

Her eyelids say, "Only the disquieting muses have time for me." So she writes like an umbrella, shading reality; remembering pluck and luck stories about bumblebees, lovingly wrapped in Tiffany-blue ribbon and paper.

Father used to solve her every contemplation. Now indecisiveness in what she asks. Now indecisiveness in arbitrary tasks.

And she and her negative capability are the last two awake at a slumber party, giving commonplace words the allure of secrecy.

You see, she is only harmless when she sleeps.
~

#sylvia #plath #poet #death #family #depression #grief #suicide

theladyeve Oct 2023

To all the women before me

These days I’ve been looking to the past, to all the women before me. The revolutionaries whose words helped shape the way I see the world; the way I see nature; the way I see simple, ordinary pleasures of life become extraordinary.

These days I let my pen flow freely across the page. I look to all the women before me for guidance because I find myself afraid to speak my own truth. They teach me with words how to live presently, never looking back because there’s no room for mistakes to reside here.

These days we’re on a first name basis. With wide-eyed clarity, all the women before me allow a short glimpse of them as they once were: bright young things full of hope with a cigarette loosely balanced between faded red lips and hands that move deftly over a typewriter. The room is filled with cigarette smoke and incense. I can almost smell it now but the vision is gone with the wind.

These days I seek out: Zelda; Sylvia; Anne; Emily; Joan; Virginia. To all the women before me, I have found you. They’re no longer a black and white still photograph or a short film reel. In those moments, they stay forever young etched in time from decades ago.

These days I welcome you all in my waking dreams. To all the women before me, you are not lingering ghosts being passed by unseen. You are not remembered for how you left this earth but for how, after all this time, you still remain unchanging.

#women #zelda #fitzgerald #sylvia #plath #anne #sexton #emily #dickinson #joan

m lang Apr 2022

burning desires

i feel like sylvia plath,
or james dean when he said
“live fast, die young, and
leave behind a beautiful corpse.”
except he didn’t say that.
but sylvia plath was volatile
to her mind
and a tortured soul.
the carbon monoxide
filled her soul,
just as the misery fills mine.
the burning desire to exit,
to end it.
the desire to burn the
fires inside my mind.
the poetic way of james dean,
and sylvia plath
lives in my veins
and feels like a raging fire
that cannot be tamed.

4-21-22

#james #dean #sylvia #plath #depression #jamesdean #sylviaplath

Julius Mwanja Jr May 2020

Dear Mother

Once upon a weedy lawn
At the Mwanjas family Home
There left mom, left before we could even say good bye
Thinking of it as a lie, it was so unfortunate that mom had to die

Blow upon this cloud of seed,
You should wish for what you really need."

I wished for one but sadly blew
As I was lost and left with no clue
My world ripped part unfixed without a touch of glue

Lost the only mother I ever knew
And saw the sky as if it was never blue
Like they was nothing else to do

And unsure of where to go
I found a bridge, and crossed it slow
As I found myself in momma's heart.
For her love was still part

We had lost a mother that could never be replaced
In her lightness of her motherly tone
Was her love for showing her motherly kindness?

Just one moment changed it all
When I saw moms friend softly call
As she whispered in my elder sisters ears
Your mom just died, I’m sorry dear

As the joy drained out like tides at sea.
Lost direction like I couldn’t see
Only left with pain and grief
I felt no relief and unwelcome like a thief.

There comes a time in this place
Were you try to do your best
You try too hard
But easy left without guard

I mean that only love is the way
As I changed from a boy to a man up to this day
Not love for a girl, a career or a degree I must say
But her love that transforms that we lost on that day

Breathtaking, feeling like my heart could break
And not really sure of how much more I would take
I found myself living a life that was fake

Cause her heart was bright as the sun
As I remember every we had done
I remembered her dresses, beautifully white
I remember her as if it was last night

Like a knife tearing straight through my chest
I knew that I won’t ever seen her face, because mom was put to rest
Before I was her very own
Now mom is never at home

Very mush missed for her things
Down on her knees,
By the side of her bed she found her peace
Praying for us, like she knew she would live
Living us a world of grief

She prayed for our unity, she prayed we find love,
She prayed for our blessing she prayed for our Dad above all.
She prayed we find strength, she prayed for her home
She put our needs first before her very own

And I knew for the first time her pain and her care.
And I noticed also an angel-like glow,
As she reached out her hand, and said, "Now you knew."

But I'll never forget something I lost that day.

I lost a wonderful mother
So gentle yet so strong
The many ways she showed her love and care
And the way she made me feel like I belong

A mother who was patient when I was foolish
You were a mother when I was childish
You give me guidance when I asked
You were the master to my every task

I lost the only dependable source of comfort
I’m were I’ m today because of your effort
The cushion when I fall
The only reason I knew how to stand tall
The only support I ever called
A mother I ever known

And this something I was told

Never discount the love of a mother from her son nor her daughter,
Never trade in that bond for the sake of a lover.
That there is power in a mothers loving prayers
And there is a God who hears and who cares.
I learned about faith, and unconditional love.
That my mother soul was sent up above
And I learned that from a little seed
Can come most everything we need

But some of us didn’t grow up with every in need
Because we lack a mother in need
So I had to push boundaries’ in order to create opportunities
Have to strive in order to succeed
We love you mom and very mush missed
This is your son KULI; remember you left me when I was a kid
This one is for you mom, may soul rest in peace

Not all people glow up wth everything they need

#dear #mom #sylvia #nalomba #mwanja

lucidwaking Jun 2021

Copycat Plath

---TRIGGER WARNING: themes and references related to self harm---

I swear to god,
I'm the 13th reincarnation of Sylvia Plath,
Only I'm bad at poetry.
I write, I hide in my bedroom with the light off,
And I grow a little more absurd everyday.
One moment I'm singing a gentle song,
Nurturing the sweet daisies sprouted in my carpet.
A minute later I'm slicing open my forearms,
Cackling and painting something on the walls in blood.
Call 911 and shove the phone down my throat,
It feels good to gargle disappointment.

My writing has evolved over the years:
From naive, soft, and shallow murmurs,
To a steady, dull hum,
Then a defiant yell of a freedom.
However, it's time to enter another stage.
One of scratching, beating to the rhythm of a feverish dance.
It's tainted at the corners like an old, ruined photograph,
With a faint sour smell.
The final stage of my writing has come -
A frantic, hallowed, and rusty wail.
How long until the words I scrawl
Become nonsense?

So stay away,
Don't come through the crack in the bell jar.
Please, I'm trying to suffocate myself,
All in the name of art.
Let me stay in this vaccum of madness,
Pushing and pulling at my mind.
I'm telling you, it's going to hurt if you get too close.
My turbulent muse is ready with a match,
And I don't have the strength to stop her from burning you.

Let me revel in my obsession for a little longer.
My selfishness, my self-indulgence, my depravity,
Or whatever the hell you want to call it.
I know I'm a fool for wearing Plath's wedding band,
And swallowing her barbiturates.
I can't help but romanticize her legacy,
Writing her initials on Wernicke's and Broca's foreheads.
I don't care if I'm a copycat.

Critiques welcomed as always! Thanks!

#freeverse #freeform #sylvia #plath #sylviaplath #copycat #writing #selfindulgence

Paul Idiaghe Dec 2020

YOU’RE

Done, ends stitched in a seam—set
to be worn over yourself.
A stain so bright, you sparkle.
Too far forward to flip. The sipper,
the straw, the soda. Bleeding ink
every blink, but still brimming.
Ripped apart like a rainbow.
A love letter to life still
in the works.

So dead you’re divine.
Only visible in the love-light.
Weird as a plant that bites
the bully, as a phlox
sprouting through sand.
Wingless like wind, fin-less
like a fluid. Lost but
listening to your own heart.
Found.

after Sylvia Plath

#sylvia #stitch #seam #sparkle #bleed #ink #love #dead #plant #wind