
Woman... you are weak Only in as much as You need to peek Into the bathroom cabinet And grab a razor Because you must, must, must Use that under arm hair eraser Then gently pluck Every single hair above Those deep brown eyes That I always love When they peek into me What do they see What do you see in me Your look leaves me weak, on my knee And then when you talk I hang on every word speak You call me out, call me freak Call me to you with your shriek Call me with your bleak critique Call me old, a crap antique Calling out my feeble physique You call me man, call me weak We call our everything unique.
Sylvia Plath, American poet and author, died today in 1963.
She left her children to find her dead body.
A fine poem, about a woman beset by so much …
She left her body to end her pain …