Jeez, Anne Sexton, quit writing poetry that I should have written

At least at one time in my life. At the moment, I don't think this poem applies to me, but it's great nonetheless.

"What can I do with this memory?
Shake the bones out of it?
Defoliate the smile?
Stub out the chin with cigarettes?
Take the face of the man I love
and squeeze my foot into it,
when all the while my heart is making a museum?
I love you the way the oboe plays.
I love you the way skinny dipping makes my body feel.
I love you the way a ripe artichoke tastes.
Yet I fear you,
as one in the desert fears the sun."

"Waking Alone" from The Divorce Papers

I ain't scared.