“Please, I want so badly for the good things to happen.”

Sylvia Plath, from her journal

How ambition plagues me. I am trying
to fall for patience, for perfect timing, in
a for everything there is a season kind
of great design. But God, I love the heat
of a good chase, blurring my peripherals,
gasping for the breath I lost in the act
of seeking. Transcend the master plan.
Defy expectation. It is written that there
exists a time for every matter under heaven
though I find I am always at war with
my desire to be everything. God, if you
ever have a spare minute in your busy
schedule (life, death, harvest, repeat),
and if you ever happen to read this prayer
from a girl grasping for metamorphosis,
please slow her down. Anchor her feet.
Breathe life back into her lungs. Teach her
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up
what is planted
; she cannot be like you
in all of your infinite wisdom. Quell
her constant search for more. You have
already given her the world. There is no
more need. Only for the turn of a leaf.

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