I lay there silently, hoarding my small dignity. I did not ask about the gate or the closet. I did not question the bedtime ritual where, on the cold bathroom tiles, I was spread out daily and examined for flaws. I did not know that my bones, those solids, those pieces of sculpture would not splinter.
Anne SextonMaybe I am becoming a hermit, opening the door for only a few special animals? Maybe my skull is too crowded and it has no opening through which to feed it soup?
Anne SextonDonโt worry if they say youโre crazy. They said that about me and yet I was saner than all of them. I knew. No matter. You know. Insane or sane, you know. Itโs a good thing to know - no matter what they call it.
Anne Sexton