the effect of reading plath constantly.

so many have spoken of sylvia.
and her pretty head in an oven.
some say they could have saved her.
some want to join her
some glorify her
some crucify her.
I am the least of them
efficient enough
to assuredly speak
of sylvia plath.
once a school girl
then a young poet
then a girl in love
the a wife and a mother
then jealous and mad
out of love
in the oven
than in a coffin
at 30.
maybe not precisely in that order
I only saw one documentary.
I am the least fit to speak
of Sylvia plath.
but what my spec like
imbecile infant mind
seems to think is
sylvia is just us
and we are all sylvia
sylvia is the human condition
in her battles and her rises and her
sheer magnificence
sylvia is the human history
in its ugliness and its force
that pulls through you a descendance    and a sitting down
to stare.
sylvia is men and woman mundanely
rummaging and roaming
and screaming
hot blooded
than not
not at all.
just cold and sulking
and stationary.
all for some tomato sauce
and encounters
plastered smiles
and a good night sleep.