I have lived through a dynasty of blindfolds
With blue currents in my veins
The feeling of being ‘different’
What I to make of these contradictions?
I learn mandarin, I wear white cuffs


I learn to bow low, my heart
Filled with disorganized unlocalized prayers
O Soul, and such disorganization!
My stars are flashing like
Terrible numerals of my intuition


The choices I have made, unmade
The spirit of valedictory pangs
Must follow us all, like memory
Memory’s stiff formality of failed prophecies
Her bandages to self-image, her mockeries
And the terrible breathing of ill-health
Some things could not have been predicted


I have lived through a dynasty of rareness, then?
Being myself, an ordinary creator in littleness
I feel as if I’ve trespassed stupidly
Across my fate, like an unwelcome guest
Or colonized a new form of ignorance
Settled in neurological patterns of
The most dire selfishness, until I am
Terrified of what I have become


I learn to accept malignancy slower than others?
Swimming with angels in apprehension
I struggle at the limits of language
Ready to bleed light again into my
Self-sufficient darkness, her unidentifiable calls


Here there is an immortality
In the self-talk that loves to suffer
I move away from dampening vibrations in a hurry
For such salt-sweetness of surrealism
Leads nowhere, but to some sport of doom.

4 thoughts on “THE PLATH DIARIES

  1. Once again you lured me in, this poem is remarkable, I know it’s Sylvia Plath, but thanks for posting, it is truly remarkable. Do you write any poetry? Idd love to see it .:)

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