The World is a Asylum

Inspired by The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. She is the greatest wonder.

I find myself becoming more and more mad everyday.

With every heavy night of a punding mind

hanging like a war zone on my heart.

With percetion, every single thing i've known

becoming twisted and boiling to the brim,

the very surface of my naked body.

So that morning with the hot water

covering half of my body, me slowly,

meditation settling into the heat,

skin melting in the 9'o clock second

day of autumn I felt my heart screaming.

Like a broken sequence, like the fiery red

of my feet, like how I let my hair grow

on my legs because it felt right.

And I think of those quick in the time slim

tender instants when my father just held me

because sometimes you just feel like crying

and you don't know why.

And I felt whole because he didn't ask,

he just knew my heart was breaking.

So that morning I made up an excuse

in my mind, a white lie so that if my father

asked me why I took a bath instead of a shower

I wouldn't have to explain it's because

i'm becoming depressed.

Like people do in New York,

the lights, the people, the parties, and even

the sky it just stamps the storm brewing

in your stomach of a letter that will never be sent.

In Sacramento, I found myself turning

away into a wiltered wallflower.

I ate breakfast, waffles with blueberries and honey

of dry washed dreams.

And all I want to tell people is

I am following my dreams.

Cheers.

I want to be free.

To free fall from the tallest building

because maybe I have the anatomy of a bird.

And just maybe I can fly.

For that quick in the time slim tender

instant I am above the world because

my dreams have become my wings.

And I can fly.

Reviews

[Aarontastic]

When I read it through the first time, it seemed a little shaky, although it definitely improved towards the end insofar as cohesion goes. When I read it again without halting at the ends of lines, it was easier and I followed it better. I haven't read the Bell Jar, but I know what it's about generally, and you did a good job conveying a sense of anxiety and of being overwhelmed by things in a fast paced city.

It reminds me of the way that Ginsberg wrote his poetry, because it shows the same carelessness of form and it's very stream-of-conscious-y. I don't particularly like that style that much though, and I think you could have written this as plain prose and it would have been more readable. But those are personal feelings; all in all this is decent.

[Vesa Lee]

And I felt whole because he didn't ask,
he just knew my heart was breaking.
>>>>>
Plath's poetry has always bruised to the bone, her melancholia leaving tender spots in my psyche.
I can feel they same force of feeling behind the rush of your words and I definitely wouldn't mind seeing more of this sort of "collaboration" in the future.