How clearly these lines show the harsh life Sylvia had.

I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow

Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips

And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself.

The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.

. . .

And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes

Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.

The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea,

And comes from a country far away as health (Plath, 1965,  p. 11-12).