Hi Love,
When it gets quiet in a place that used to be so loud, when all your innards were gone and you felt so empty that it hurts, when suddenly the feeling of nothingness surrounds you and you got scared — Please... please... let me know, let someone know.
Don’t do what’s easy, Have Courage to fight harder and Faith to endure life.
You matter.
You are enough.
Edge
BY SYLVIA PLATH
The woman is perfected.
Her dead
Body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity
Flows in the scrolls of her toga,
Her bare
Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over.
Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,
One at each little
Pitcher of milk, now empty.
She has folded
Them back into her body as petals
Of a rose close when the garden
Stiffens and odors bleed
From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.
The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.
She is used to this sort of thing.
Her blacks crackle and drag.
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