Darkness wipes me out like chalk on a blackboard.
I don’t know a thing.”
— Sylvia Plath

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge   

For the hearing of my heart——

It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge   

For a word or a touch   

Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.   

So, so, Herr Doktor.   

So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,

I am your valuable,   

The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.   

I turn and burn.

Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash—

You poke and stir.

Flesh, bone, there is nothing there——

A cake of soap,   

A wedding ring,   

A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer   

Beware...

— Sylvia Plath

“I am tired of having hands
she said

I want wings—
But what will you do without your hands
 to be human?
I am tired of human

she said

I want to live on the sun—”
— Louise Glück