Mr. Reaper

December 16, 2013
By DelilahskyS BRONZE, Brooklyn, New York
DelilahskyS BRONZE, Brooklyn, New York
4 articles 0 photos 0 comments

O dear Teddy--

How you used to enchant me, tell me please of how

you used to enchant all women!

I don't care for your verses of subtle hints

on nature, trees, birds, such common things.

One day I though you were better than that.

You are not.

Born into a world of English, it was still always my second language.

Make believe was my first, so was my father's.

He lied to me for only 30 days, 30 months really

but to be fair and honest 30 years.

Born into a mother's arms but only she was soft

for half of an hour. Then,

Her crimson life came back to her.

Thank you! Mr. Reaper for threats you make.

Took Daddy first. I made him real.

When I slice my knee I feel it in my


Filling holes dug by survivors of a bloody inquisition.

O--- how they used to enthrall me! They used to

captivate me!

Bored within minutes. Never by the wind. Never by the stories.

My silver complexion was never the problem.

The perfume bottle has always been stuffed with gas.

I wore it everyday.

My genius, over masked by perfume, or so I have heard.

Who are they to judge?

Theodore was always covered in the stink of muddy perfume.

---I suppose I will just climb to the top shelf and read Margaret Mitchell three times more---

The author's comments:
This is a persona poem in the mind of Sylvia Plath. I am always very intrigued by the depth of her mind and I thought I would try to channel my inner Plath-ness.

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