for Sylvia Plath
Some will read our story,
and will not understand,
why I left you, so selfishly
At your most uncomfortable.
I really was in a state,
where I had to limp away,
And limp it became yes, I was.
There was no steel pin in this heart.
I hope it is clear to you friend,
how dear you were to me,
A friend, my Buddy,
Some will not glean that,
from our story.
No, I am just a selfish girl,
Leaving you, so vulnerable,
so fearing of death, so
and limping away.
Crawled under that heavy mortar
with each pound about to fall onto me,
I took each pound like an ounce
down my throat.
Compared to the shocks
whizzing between my ears
(Like the sound of the ocean
But not nearly as soothing)
Ray Brook at Saranac
Wasn't such awful place,
But I was, as you know,
too splintered, almost broken,
So I split.
Well now you know where I went.
I wrote our story in such a way,
my dearest friend, so that I would
always seem the villain. While
some equally selfish girls
young co-eds on the prowl
will champion me,
I will tell you, I never meant
I only meant for them to hate me.
Tickle your toes. . .
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