She died, head in the oven
fingers black with ink, tongue out
licking her last punctuation
eyes rolled back, wet marbles
seeing beyond earthly confinement.
She died, with white gloves on
pinched bones of her little wrists
dangling at emptied angles
were delicate even then
as if she were choosing
with her ending
to dance
yet
TheFeatheredSleep 
Fuck!
This is something else now❤️
What can I say? I read it over and over as if I could not help looking at something I should not have seen.
Deep, dark, and amazing. Bravo
Stark, vivid and packs a visual punch. Excellent!
“Dying is an art, like everything else.” Sylvia Plath
So is writing of it.
Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
TheFeatheredSleep – Yes, that Sylvia.
Great apropos quote!!
One of my favourite living female poets writing a poem about my all-time favourite poetess = THE STUFF OF DREAMS. ❤
You made this reverent and lovely in its pathos
The very incomparable and one and only… Sylvia Plath.
Loved this:
“eyes rolled back, wet marbles
seeing beyond earthly confinement.
She died, with white gloves on
pinched bones of her little wrists
dangling at emptied angles”
Sad..but beautifully written!
I am enjoying the auto-bio fiercely, let me know if you’d like me to send it your way once I’m done. It’s is very in-depth.
IT IS
Deal 💓
Thank you!
This is the second time this week Sylvia Plath has come up ! why, I ask myself? What is she telling me?
Such a tragic final path
for someone so gifted
as Sylvia Plath.
Dayuum, Sister 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻
So undignified
Total agreement
Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.
It’s a tragic.
Very true
How is this possible? I had never heard
to talk about Sylvia Plath and already loved her?