Fuck Yeah Anne Sexton

(November 9, 1928, Newton, Massachusetts–October 4, 1974, Weston, Massachusetts) Personal blog: psychiccity

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“I feel unspeakably lonely. And I feel - drained. It is a blank state of mind and soul I cannot describe to you as I think it would not make any difference. Also it is a very private feeling I have - that of melting into a perpetual nervous breakdown. I am often questioning myself what I further want to do, who I further wish to be; which parts of me, exactly, are still functioning properly. No answers, darling. At all.”

— Anne Sexton, A Self-Portrait In Letters

[tamsoj]

Anne Sexton, from Love Poems; “Song For a Red Nightgown,”

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Anne Sexton, from Complete Poems of Anne Sexton; “December 18th,”

[resqectable]

“I don’t care, I love you anyhow. It is too late to turn you out of my heart. Part of you lives here.”

— Anne Sexton, A Self-Portrait in Letters

[stlowens]

Anne Sexton, from “Iron Hans.”

[linkinmoon]

Anne Sexton, A Self- Portrait in Letters

[geniussloci]

Anne Sexton from The Lost Lie

[stlowens]

Anne Sexton, from “Iron Hans.”

[tinyghosts]

Moist, moist, the heat leaking through the hinges, sun baking the roof like a pie and I and thou and she eating, working, sweating, droned up on the heat.

Anne Sexton, The Fury of Sundays

[flowerytale]

Anne Sexton, from A Self-portrait in Letters

[whosafraidofvirginiawoolf]

[flowerytale]

Anne Sexton, from A Self-portrait in Letters

[humming-a-memory]

“I never seemed to like the spring for what it was; I always loved it for what it might have been. In the head. In the heart of hearts. It is in my ability, I think, to love something fully only if I am naturally, compulsively, irrationally drawn to it.”

― Anne Sexton, Anne Sexton: A Self-Portrait in Letters

[weltenwellen]

Anne Sexton, from “Snow”, The Complete Poems

[fckypym]

CONSORTING WITH ANGELS

I was tired of being a woman, tired of the spoons and the post, tired of my mouth and my breasts, tired of the cosmetics and the silks. There were still men who sat at my table, circled around the bowl I offered up. The bowl was filled with purple grapes and the flies hovered in for the scent and even my father came with his white bone. But I was tired of the gender things. Last night I had a dream and I said to it… ‘You are the answer. You will outlive my husband and my father.’ In that dream there was a city made of chains where Joan was put to death in man’s clothes and the nature of the angels went unexplained, no two made in the same species, one with a nose, one with an ear in its hand, one chewing a star and recording its orbit, each one like a poem obeying itself, performing God’s functions, a people apart. 'You are the answer, ’ I said, and entered, lying down on the gates of the city. Then the chains were fastened around me and I lost my common gender and my final aspect. Adam was on the left of me and Eve was on the right of me, both thoroughly inconsistent with the world of reason. We wove our arms together and rode under the sun. I was not a woman anymore, not one thing or the other. O daughters of Jerusalem, the king has brought me into his chamber. I am black and I am beautiful. I’ve been opened and undressed. I have no arms or legs. I’m all one skin like a fish. I’m no more a woman than Christ was a man.

– ANNE SEXTON

[feral-ballad]

I am growing, and I am doing it alone—perhaps you feel excluded in this but it can only happen alone.

Anne Sexton, From A Self-Portrait in Letters

[stlowens]

Anne Sexton, from “In Celebration of my Uterus.”