poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

I adore this poem. teh last stanza is my absolute favorite.

i think it is in part about being someone your not to protect revealing all the pain in you. and the dreams we live in our heads that we may never truly have

this is my favorite sylvia plath poem. I like it so much because it reminds me intensly of the time I was depressed. I think the whole thing screams it, and makes you feel raw, naked, and cold in a steamy room filled with pale light from an overcast sky. The whole setting of the bath tub is so in step with that too I think, because that's traditionally where you slit your wrists. All of your hairs look like dirty parasites, your flesh looks pale and gaunt. I feel like this is the inescapable reality of an eye that cannot ignore the plainness of the day or stand groping through it without any promise of something to look forward to on the morrow. "accuracy must not stalk at large", the way sylvia describes things is so imaginitive and so bare, and it's true, if we live day to day bearing the facts of our eventual desparate demise, or realizing the things that lie hidden under our clothes and in our minds are mostly never seen, and that nakedness is stark because we are not comfortable with what no one else is comfortable with, then a steamy window is probably an improper barrier to hide the monsters of fact that live in us and sleep in our laps.