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    Anne Sexton, one of my very favorite confessional poets, was born today in 1928. 
Watch out for power, for its avalanche can bury you, snow, snow, snow, smothering your mountain.Watch out for hate, it can open its mouth and you’ll fling yourself outto eat off your leg, an instant leper.Watch out for friends, because when you betray them, as you will, they will bury their heads in the toiletand flush themselves away.Watch out for intellect, because it knows so much it knows nothingand leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing knowledge as your heartfalls out of your mouth.Watch out for games, the actor’s part, the speech planned, known, given, for they will give you awayand you will stand like a naked little boy, pissing on your own child-bed.Watch out for love(unless it is true, and every part of you says yes including the toes) , it will wrap you up like a mummy, and your scream won’t be heardand none of your running will end.Love? Be it man. Be it woman.It must be a wave you want to glide in on, give your body to it, give your laugh to it, give, when the gravelly sand takes you, your tears to the land. To love another is somethinglike prayer and can’t be planned, you just fallinto its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.Special person, if I were you I’d pay no attentionto admonitions from me, made somewhat out of your wordsand somewhat out of mine.A collaboration.I do not believe a word I have said, except some, except I think of you like a young treewith pasted-on leaves and know you’ll rootand the real green thing will come.Let go. Let go.Oh special person, possible leaves, this typewriter likes you on the way to them, but wants to break crystal glassesin celebration for you, when the dark crust is thrown offand you float all aroundlike a happened balloon. 
~Admonitions To A Special Person

    Anne Sexton, one of my very favorite confessional poets, was born today in 1928. 

    Watch out for power, 
    for its avalanche can bury you, 
    snow, snow, snow, smothering your mountain.

    Watch out for hate, 
    it can open its mouth and you’ll fling yourself out
    to eat off your leg, an instant leper.

    Watch out for friends, 
    because when you betray them, 
    as you will, 
    they will bury their heads in the toilet
    and flush themselves away.

    Watch out for intellect, 
    because it knows so much it knows nothing
    and leaves you hanging upside down, 
    mouthing knowledge as your heart
    falls out of your mouth.

    Watch out for games, the actor’s part, 
    the speech planned, known, given, 
    for they will give you away
    and you will stand like a naked little boy, 
    pissing on your own child-bed.

    Watch out for love
    (unless it is true, 
    and every part of you says yes including the toes) , 
    it will wrap you up like a mummy, 
    and your scream won’t be heard
    and none of your running will end.

    Love? Be it man. Be it woman.
    It must be a wave you want to glide in on, 
    give your body to it, give your laugh to it, 
    give, when the gravelly sand takes you, 
    your tears to the land. To love another is something
    like prayer and can’t be planned, you just fall
    into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.

    Special person, 
    if I were you I’d pay no attention
    to admonitions from me, 
    made somewhat out of your words
    and somewhat out of mine.
    A collaboration.
    I do not believe a word I have said, 
    except some, except I think of you like a young tree
    with pasted-on leaves and know you’ll root
    and the real green thing will come.

    Let go. Let go.
    Oh special person, 
    possible leaves, 
    this typewriter likes you on the way to them, 
    but wants to break crystal glasses
    in celebration 
    for you, 
    when the dark crust is thrown off
    and you float all around
    like a happened balloon. 

    ~Admonitions To A Special Person

    — 2 years ago with 113 notes
    #anne sexton  #confessional poet  #confessional  #poetry  #poems 
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      Oh Anne
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      Wonderful poem by Anne Sexton: Admonitions To A Special Person. Via @moorehn,
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