Why I Write (Sylvia Plath Remix)
I write because I
Breathe, because I need
to feel like I’m making a little word with my own
I write because I read
Pages make such impressions on me;
Its only natural I should wish to leave
Fingerprints on one of them in return.
I write because these images only stay
Running through the mazes of my mind so long
before finding their way out. I must scrawl
them on my wrist before they’re gone.
I write because my lifelines hold
Secrets no palmistry experts could trace out,
But my pencil bleeds leaden secrets,
Across scraps of paper, plain as day, grey as clay.
And needs not occult to do it.
This was my pitiful attempt to write like Sylvia Plath, using dashes, creepy imagery, enjambment, and honesty to convey a point. I hope it is not an entire disaster.