Tell her she’s a bluet, but not blue.
And if it’s color that she wants, tell her she’s a blackbird, that she’s flying.
That she could only ever be flying.
If she’s a number, tell her she’s more than ten but less than twelve.
When you say this mean her legs, mean the long number 1’s wrapped around your back.
Tell her you feel most religious when she’s sitting naked in a chair.
Tell her religion is all you need.
Take her hands off your hips and put them on a statue’s hips.
Tell her This is hardness. This is what it’s like to want.
If she’s a herring, tell her she’s a dead herring. That she’s glowing.
That she could only ever be glowing.
And of all shapes: the circle. Days: Tuesday. Words: Brimful
When you take her to bed, take her slowly.
Then put her in parenthesis and keep (her) there, always.
“In some older versions of Persephone’s story, she was a young woman, not a young girl, and instead of accidentally wandering away, she had gone deliberately adventuring, when she fell, or was lured, or was kidnapped into Hell. Here Persephone’s adventurous spirit leads her into difficulty, instead of her being a passive victim of the wickedness of others. Her relationship with her mother gives her the courage to explore her world, and when events take a bad turn, their relationship gives her the strength to survive. In a still older version, Persephone heard the despairing cries of the dead and chose freely to go into the Underworld to comfort them. Hades does not appear at all, in this version. Here Persephone’s descent to hell illustrates inclusiveness for every being, whether in the Underworld or in our present one, and shows that mercy is integral to her nature. In the most ancient layer of myth, Persephone’s name means “She Who Destroys The Light.” She was the powerful Goddess of the Underworld long before anyone knew of Hades. Like the Indian Kali, the Irish Morrigan, and the Sumerian Ereshkegal, she was the Goddess of Death.”
Vincent Van Gogh used to eat yellow paint because he thought it would get the happiness inside him. Many people thought he was mad and stupid for doing so because the paint was toxic, never mind that it was obvious that eating paint couldn’t possible have any direct correlation to one’s happiness, but I never saw that. If you were so unhappy that even the maddest ideas could possible work, like painting the walls of your internal organs yellow, than you are going to do it. It’s really no different than falling in love or taking drugs. There is a greater risk of getting your heart broken or overdosing, but people still do it everyday because there was always that chance it could make things better. Everyone has their yellow paint.
“I feel unspeakably lonely. And I feel - drained. It is a blank state of mind and soul I cannot describe to you as I think it would not make any difference. Also it is a very private feeling I have - that of melting into a perpetual nervous breakdown. I am often questioning myself what I further want to do, who I further wish to be; which parts of me, exactly, are still functioning properly. No answers, darling. At all.”
— Anne Sexton, A Self-Portrait In Letters