Anne Sexton (November 9, 1928 - October 4, 1974), born Anne Gray Harvey, was an American poet and writer. She won the Pulitzer Prize in poetry in 1967 for Live or Die.
When I'm writing, I know I'm doing the thing I was born to do.
But I can't. Need is not quite belief.
Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren
Then all this became history. Your hand found mine. Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot. Oh, my carpenter, the fingers are rebuilt. They dance with yours.
Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.
I fear I will be ripped open and found unsightly.
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The rest of my room is book shelves. I hoard books. They are people who do not leave.
The future is a fog that is still hanging out over the sea, a boat that floats home or does not.
You who have inhabited me in the deepest and most broken place, are going, going
It is June. I am tired of being brave.
Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed but this is the typewriter that sits before me and love is where yesterday is at.
Don’t worry if they say you’re crazy. They said that about me and yet I was saner than all of them. I knew. No matter. You know. Insane or sane, you know. It’s a good thing to know - no matter what they call it.
Those moments before a poem comes, when the heightened awareness comes over you, and you realize a poem is buried there somewhere, you prepare yourself. I run around, you know, kind of skipping around the house, marvelous elation. It’s as though I could fly.
How are you? How is your wonderful bathroom? How are the books you read and the things you think? Your dogs and their lives? The weather? Your feelings?
I don't care, I love you anyhow. It is too late to turn you out of my heart. Part of you lives here.