Frieda Hughes Quotes

Give me the raw materials; the black holes,
The cold floors and confusion of needles-as-thoughts
That make me feel myself,
Over any stupefying potions
That would turn me into someone else.

I found my home in books,
Where dreams were realised...

I suppressed my fury at his verbal probings
As he attempted entry
Of my inner self. My anger was
A thing he wanted too much
As if it pleasured him, his touch
Sent ants marauding
Beneath my teenage skin.
My instincts clawed me back
From the precipice of him;
His vile dark eyes accompanied his oh,
Too personal breath upon my face
As he studied my reaction to his question,
As if to say 'I'm a man
And I am touching you, I am, I am.'
My momentary sorrow taught me
That in future visits I'd present
A show of mediocrity.
I'd be blank, without a trait,
Devoid of personality
For him to finger and manipulate.