reach higher

you read a slew
of plath
poems
and you too want
to find
and oven
to lean into
and go to sleep.
it's brutal
and brilliant.
each image
carved out
with a the sharpest
of scalpels,
inked
in blood.
it's not your go
to reading
on a bright autumn
morning,
but sometimes
she calls to
you, and says here,
come here.
this is where
the bar is set.
reach higher,
you're barely off
the ground.