Two years at sea

I like Plath although I shouldn't.
It's not too fitting to take comfort
In a haze of depression.
To not think about anything.
And freeze out to numbness
Where none of my problems exist.

I like Plath in those moments I stare
Out a window in a crowded room
And I discover that there is a whole nother world where
Everyone is not a concern.
My cheeks flare and I will crack
A sardonic smile thinking I have played
The biggest trick on guests while I scoff at my
Personal world they'll never see.

I like Plath on rainy days where I have nothing to do.
Her words alone invoke a right to contemplate an alternative life
Where I might not have existed a year ago.
Her story taken as a warning.

I like Plath when I see her name at the top of the page.
That alone brings the memories and tears
Back in an instant recognition;
A cold, dark one where I'm all alone.

I like Plath because she condones my old lifestyle.
With her elegant words describing
The monster that once consumed us both.
Knowing that she was far too lost in herself to once think
That her words could reach to someone else,
Likewise lost.
I like Plath late at night when I'm sleepy
And need something to think about.
I think of being bold, rash and secretive in a big city.

I liked Plath when I was lost at age fourteen,
And I still like her now even though I'm sound
With who I am becoming.
She lets me remember how I got here,
Even though it wasn't pretty or easy.
And even though I never told a soul,
She will still allow me to dwell on it, cry a little for my anger,
Smile,
And move on.

She lets me remember,
When no one else can.
And that dark swirling water and fast whipping wind
Beneath Egg Rock
Scares me enough to be grateful
That my two years at sea
Became a lesson.

September twelfth, two thousand and eight.