mad, bad girl.

ms. Plath stuck her head in the oven,
ms. Woolf drowned herself in the sea.
with the fate of these mad girls all laid out
i wonder what will become of me?

i think i’m mad.
i’m a mad girl.
i’ve been bad.
i’ve been a bad, bad girl.

ms. Sexton was just a touch like me
the way she wrote right from her heart strings
she started her car, wouldn’t let it go free
‘twas carbon monoxide poisoning!

i think i’m mad.
i’m a mad girl.
i’ve been bad.
i’ve been a bad, bad girl.

my substance abusers,
my famous cohorts,
the suicide seducers
who’ve cut their thread short

they write a word,
then take a breath.
love&lies&life&death.
they write a word,
then take a drink
&taketake in that nicotine.

i think i’m mad.
i’m a mad girl.
i’ve been bad.
i’ve been a bad, bad girl.

Sylvia Plath
was under The Bell Jar
and wouldn’t let herself out.
Virginia Woolf
couldn’t swim To The Lighthouse
but she gave me something to write about.
Anne Sexton
went through a Transformation
and was encased in glass, no doubt.

i think i’m mad.
i’m a mad girl.
i’ve been bad.
i’ve been a bad, bad girl.

i think i’m bad.
i’m a bad girl.
i’m going mad.
and it’s the end of the world.