Anne Sexton, born Anne Gray Harvey (November 9, 1928 - October 4, 1974) was an American poet, known for her highly personal, confessional verse. She won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1967. She committed suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning.(Wikipedia)
More on Literary Arts, check my playlist:
   • Literary arts  

Her Kind by Anne Sexton

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

Someone wrote this precious comment (unfortunately removed):
So much raw experience detailed in this poem. Just the first five lines alone are a doozy and those that follow no less so. abab cdcd ee rhyme scheme soft, understated, delicious words like disencumber, legal verbiage, commodore in a mail man's suit, Nassau, Cotillion, hurly burly, forgive. I imagine she wrote this in one sitting. I imagine she went to a lot, of trouble to get to record it just how she wanted it. I can't imagine how many takes it took to get the breathing, intonation, pauses just right just how she wanted it. What a beautiful poem. What a mammoth effort. All this to say, I think the music is superfluous to requirements and perhaps a little distracting.