| A love letter for Sylvia Plath
Posted: 4/3/2008 7:06:13 PM | If I haven’t offered you my weakness, then I haven’t offered you my love.
If the 2 am we populated as new lovers turns to knives, silence, and a twisted harlequin laughing at your soul, then I have not done my job. I have not stood at the window protecting you from monsters, fate, and worst all; ourselves. And if I haven’t offered you such, that I stand right now with my pride cupped in my hands. Knowing that a man’s weakness is his inability to be wrong. And to find those two words that admit defeat, shame and degradation. Help me.
How many lovers lay broken as shattered glass speeding in a fit of rage? Stopped dead by a wall, only to find that’s not where things end. Life crushes the soul. Like a lightening bug’s glowing essence still quivering on the cold gears of this kind of romance. And yet, it still doesn’t end. Our war will resurrect me tomorrow, for you to yet again reject me. So how am I to humble myself before you, to make you my living God. Because isn’t that what it will take? When I want to run, I have to turn around. When I want to yell, I have to kiss you. When I want to fight, I have to stroke your hair remembering the vows that are so easily bypassed nowadays. I promised to hold my tongue for you. I promised give you my sexuality to you alone. Giving no further thought to the waitress then after she took my menu.
And in turn, I ask the impossible from you. For the madness that brings our bodies crashing, after infidelity, after a torn room scattered with our collapse that shows it’s maturity, it’s cracks, it’s raging winds which expose us after we abandon society. I ask you to love me, long after the entertainment of our insanity wears thin. I ask you to love me, after you know you have me. I ask you to love me when boredom sets in. Will you still be on your knees, taking what I offer. Will your pretty little lips close my eyes? Will you still be my little girl?
If you know you can hold my hand in 20 years then I offer you my soul. If you know your body will fall upon mine when our world becomes murdered, then love me, become me. I gladly bind our wrists together in matrimony and madness. That when I cannot see, when I cannot speak, when a drug induced black glass rain won’t let me out. You’ll be the very floor I’m laying on, the house that keeps me warm. You’ll be everything that I didn’t know that loved me.
And for you, I become the same. If you go to hell, I am coming with you. If you march into pain open eyed, I’ll take half of it. If you have lost your color and skin from living too long, I shall be the nurse that tends to your weak body. If when we fall, we lean against each other, I’ll never strike against a love (like this) that’s almost impossible to find. I’ll never desire to be more then half of two crooked people that laid their fears out.
But I need you for it to happen. I need be the only man on earth. If you want security of forever, then give me everything you held back before. Let me be your solitude and singlehood. Let me be your pills of suicide. Let me be the incest and mad chair that started your campaign scattered. I offer you what I won’t even offer to the Lord. But I need to know, as perfect fact, your eyes are steady and calm when you hold a knife to your arm as it is me who will bleed. If you love me in the same, you can sleep well, knowing that the ruin of your soul is fought upon my body. That your terror happened in a safe place, even if you didn’t know it.
I’ll love you with each dagger, word and promise I speak of. I’ll lift these words off the paper on which their written. I’ll carry you, your madness and your taste for the material with happy burden. I’ll do this, but I cannot without your heart seeing me when you look in the mirror. I need you to know our love through and through. That the word marriage isn’t permanent enough to explain our bond. That psychosis is a gift in which we look into each other’s eyes with great hysteria and passion. We abandon ourselves to love of a fevered kind. I can do these things, I can be everything we’ll ever need. But I need you here thinking these words as they make their way through my hand. | |
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| A love letter for Sylvia Plath
Posted: 4/5/2008 7:36:20 AM | I can honestly say that if a man wrote something like this to me it would scare the beegeebers out of me, but fouthempire I must say that you express your thoughts and feelings very eloquently, very deep and profoundly. This is very well written.
Does Sylvia know she has this forcefully powerful hold on your soul? | |
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| A love letter for Sylvia Plath
Posted: 4/5/2008 5:52:43 PM | The funny thing is that it’s not even really about her. I was watching the movie Sylvia awhile back (Gwyneth Paltrow did a great job as Sylvia), and I never realized how messed up she was. Or to what degree her situation reminded me of a person from my past. So the muse struck me, and I revisited that certain place.
It's funny that you say if someone had written that to you, it would scare you. I think that underscores the nature of a love like this. That letter is from a very secluded love, a love that's greater than itself; it is its own entity, a society with customs and rules. There is nothing scary about this; it's just not knowing the background of it will make it odd, weird, or whatever word might apply. But somewhere out there, is a woman who could read this and understand exactly what it means. | |
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| A love letter for Sylvia Plath
Posted: 4/5/2008 8:23:41 PM | bell jar was an incredible book...and her poetry reflected that of a tortured soul...i keep thinking of her husband, ted hughes, the english poet, who repeatedly cheated on her while she ended her life with gas from the oven (as her young children slept in their room...)...such tragedy...
your words capture her intensity.....
thank you for sharing.
rose. | |
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| A love letter for Sylvia Plath
Posted: 4/6/2008 9:20:36 PM | If a man wrote this to me...
My responses would definitely not be borne of fear, that's for damn sure.
I am trying to formulate a response to this letter which will do justice to how keenly I felt it. Sometimes you read words that you can feel running through your hands, and it just makes you excited, and breathless, and wish to some degree you either felt it--or if you had felt it you yourself had possessed the ability to express it.
Now I sound ridiculous.
It's beautiful...Truly. | |
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| A love letter for Sylvia Plath
Posted: 5/15/2008 8:11:52 PM | Okay, I'm in love again. I have a special weakness for poets. And this is beautiful. Sylvia was not the best poet but a deep and soul stirring love is what I aspire to. Let the average folks have the white picket fence etc .
This is sooooo hot. | |
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| A love letter for Sylvia Plath
Posted: 5/31/2008 10:08:26 AM | I just wanted to take a moment to say the love letter was beautiful.........if any of us are so lucky as to hear those words and feelings put on paper...we were loved. it is said when we have felt the very same way.... and lost our love and are left to move on with our lives, slowly we come back to life....but never to be the same. I am searching for that special person who will be as special to me...and i will become the glow in eyes....and once we meet...we will hope our search has ended. So many people looking and it seems we all want the same things...but there has to be an attraction and chemistry...and you first have to meet eachother. I am thinking about trying to get folks together in Gulf Shores on a friday nite.......just for a SINGLES MEET......would anyone be interested?  smiles to you!!! terri | |
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