Lexy+Babcock

Before reading the following poems, there are things you should understand about the poet. I never hold back when I write; “censor” is not in my vocabulary. My goal for readers is to feel when they read my poems. I’m not necessarily looking for you to feel how I felt when I wrote it or experienced it. Poetry should be read in a personal sense; that’s how you can begin to connect to me. My poetry has been called “depressing,” but I think it’s just real. I write about things that have happened in my life and while some may be sad, it was these moments that have shaped who I am. Through various structure set ups and playing around with punctuation, every one of my poems is unique. I try to include punctuation when I want pauses. Pauses are put into my poems because I want you to stop and think about the line you just read. Also, my poems include many, many deeper meanings and metaphors. I’m a fan of different writing techniques and hope to use all of them if possible. You can expect to read personification, metaphors, similes, and occasional rhyme schemes. A rule that I like to keep when writing poems is to have vocabulary that will give my poems that extra strength they need. Word choice is an important step for me. The only tip I have for a reader on this page is to open your eyes to the deeper meanings. Maybe this will help you understand the author a bit more. -Lexy

//"If I read a whole book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know it is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know this is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?" -Emily Dickinson//

=**Ryan**= he was always the most amazing //brother// I could ever ask for. //Ryan.// a god to me with every bone in his body he loves me with every muscle in his body he protects me

Ryan. his physique is tall and //skinny// his clothes revolve around him his pants are so baggy, they circle him like ankle bracelets his snapbacks, well it was always a //Bulls//

Ryan. couldn't keep promises he'd promise… i'll be there //tomorrow// down the stairs faster then lightening i’d run plop onto the couch right in front of the window complete street view sit there all day couldn't take my eyes off i'd miss //him//

Ryan. disappointing 24 hours in front of that window until the moon rose on my //disappointing//, wasted day spend the nights crying feeling as if i meant nothing to //someone// who meant the //world// to me

=** Ode to the Worn-out Sneakers in the Corner, **= last year's christmas surprise from mom. she handed me to you, wrapped in red paper and laced with a bright green bow. i remember looking into the red paper and seeing my reflection. my smile, my excitement. when i opened you up, i knew we'd be lifelong friends. i didn't care about the christmas cookies in the oven, and the aroma of chocolate chip. I laced you up, and so began our life. you hugged my piggies and gave me love. worn out sneakers in the corner, many roads you've walked. you've let me escape the fists of my fears. you've taken me places, where the best of memories were made. each scuff, a different place. each bit of dirt, another adventure. but like me, you're worn out, unfitted for your goals, and unusable. we're bent up, and used up. days have made us weak. all we have left is to, sit in the corner.

=**Negative Comments lead to a Negative Outlook**= What has the world become?

I don't like you.

At least make yourself useful!

I'm going down.

No.

Against each other?

You can't.

Kill yourself.

Completely not okay.

I feel so all alone.

Can someone give me an explanation?

=**I Was Brainwashed.**= i was brainwashed. brainwashed into my father's mistakes; letting himself get that way, my way. refusing help, headstrong, emotionally swinging, resentful turning, Mistakes.

i was brainwashed into believing Lies; letting the impossible fill my world with too much hope the world is full of love, "I love you to the world and back" "You're beautiful!" "I'll never leave you," Lies.

brainwashed into everyone's words; negative words stained into my thoughts. the diet changing, make-up needing, workout dictating, lying to myself, kind of Words.

i was brainwashed into believing.



=**Suppose**= //Suppose there's a god who thinks we are god//

Suppose that the scripture lies "fear the lord"

Suppose there's someone who puts us before them "treat others as you want to be treated"

Suppose there's self-worth and happiness "be yourself"

Suppose there's someone who appreciates what they are given "don't bite the hand that feeds you"

Suppose there's love, real genuine love "love at first sight"

//Suppose there's a god who thinks we are god//

=**Oh White Trimming**= this grey wall

shines.

it leans

towards me ever so uncomfortably.

it's sad looking,

lonley,

and empty.

the grey wall is

comforted by

white trimming.

media type="file" key="poem.mp3" width="240" height="20"

Poet, Sylvia Plath was born in 1932 and died in 1963. During her life she wrote many different poems that were shaped from her experiences. Her father was a bee-keeper, which inspired poems like: “The Bee Meeting,” “The Arrival of the Bee Box,” “Stings,” and “The Swarm.” However, her father had died when she was young and left Sylvia with his family’s history of depression. Sylvia had a breakdown, leaving her to attempt suicide and ending up in therapy. After she started getting better, she worked as a scribe for patients in a therapist’s office, mostly hearing their dreams. This is where she probably got inspiration for poems like, “Insomnia.” My favorite poem from Sylvia Plath is called, “Morning Song,” coming from her experience as a mother. Out of the poems I did detailed studies of, this was the only happy- sounding one. Plath loved being a mother; in “Morning Song” she writes, “I am no more your mother/ Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its slow/ Effacement at the wind’s hand.” “Doomsday” is an example of her more depressing writing. She writes phrases like, “Too late to ask if end was worth the means, / Too late to calculate the toppling stock:”

I find Sylvia Plath interesting because of the amount of description she used in her writing. Some descriptive lines include: “A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.” and “Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.” (“Insomniac”) Another interesting thing about Plath is her use of metaphors to show deeper meaning. A good example of this is “The hour is crowded in lunatic thirteens.” (“Doomsday”) This phrase is obviously showing crazy times because there is never a thirteenth hour. I realized that this line was supposed to symbolize the fact that the world was going completely crazy. Other lines I had to decipher were, “Love set you going like a fat gold watch. / The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry.” I’ve come to the conclusion that these lines actually are saying that love has caused a baby that is now being delivered. Also in “Morning Song” is the line, “Your handful of notes;/ The clear vowels rise like balloons.” Basically what Sylvia is describing is the baby’s cries, calling them notes and vowels.

Another interesting fact about Sylvia is her use of punctuation. Every new line starts with a capital letter. Also, she uses commas and periods at the end of almost every line. That’s almost the only thing that stays consistent with each of Plath’s poems.

Poem was probably very important to Sylvia. With her depression, Plath most likely used poetry as an outlet to let out her emotions. I almost think that her poems were a cry for help. I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if someone looked at her writing as a warning sign.