(Read erratically, with sudden, halting haunting burst of passion and lax)
Teasdale
Just another lovely Sara Teasdale
Just another claiming that they live in hell.
I hate to seem so stupidly melodramatic
bordering on ridiculous or manic,
So I panic
And run away and I run at the mouth but I never really leave
Because I feel I must stay
But one day
I will go
Without a call or text
Don't be angry
Don't be vexed
But don't worry.
There's no hurry.
I don't want to be found.
To a new irresistible land I will bound to escape the
Giant mound
Of things
As
As
As my mind rings
I'd hate to be another Sara Teasdale
*Author's note
The fate of Teasdale, a talented poet from St. Louis, Missouri, was a sad one. After learning of her love to write poetry, she would fall into spells of deep depression. These spells eventually drove away her husband, who divorced her, and Sara was left alone. In her poetry you could see her happy days, as in poems such and May Night, and her tortured thoughts, in poems like Only in Sleep. Eventually, over come with sickness and depression, Teasdale killed herself to escape her mind.
I would hate to be another Sara Teasdale
YOU ARE READING
The Aggravated Mind
PoésieEmbracing a new pattern or rhythm of life. Taking on new ways of thinking and washing away the old. A sweet love of verse and song. My heart will go on. *Author's note* Note will be random insight to the poems of this book.
