Becoming Poe

Many of us evolve into different people as we age. So many become the worst possible version of ourselves. That's according to observers or people around us though and I wouldn't trust too many haters if I were you.

Me, I'm not convinced I'm that different. For example, I've run into more than a few old classmates who recognize me, so I think I look like myself still. A little wider but pretty similar. If you feel like you used to, it's likely that you haven't CHANGED necessarily but perhaps certain traits have become more enhanced. I think I was always a writer in my mind, I just convinced myself that I was more of a physical creature. Acting, singing, laboratory, scienc-y stuff. Active outward expression versus long expanses of time at a keyboard. It's more immediate to run a test or sing a song, rather than put pen to paper and publishing. Writing seemed much harder and too long a wait for feedback.

Surprise! Your hidden talents were bubbling below the surface and might just be what give you comfort in this later stage of life. Some expand into art, mine has evolved in words.

When it comes to talents, sometimes we are convinced that ONLY THE BEST are wanted in the world. Like what we enjoy isn't useful or should be pushed aside if it can't be monetized. As if money is the only thing of value in this world.

Well, the human experience has value. Poetry has value. Expression has value. Communicating has value. Connection has value.

In today's society, so many people focus on follows and likes, but taking the time to craft a message and research your response isn't as revered. Writing as mere expression and practice takes too much effort. But that's where the self begins. I daresay that even though Hamilton was a skeevy philanderer, his greatness was in his words. Writing is a way to expel demons, build new worlds, and right the wrongs we see daily. It can be cathartic or envigorating, solemn or celebratory. It can be set to music or inspire others with a simple rhythm.

Coming back to the title, Becoming Poe. It's a play on Becoming Jane (Austen) because I've noticed that my musings tend to have a twinge of sorrow. Ennui perhaps. Edgar Allen Poe was always one of my favorites, but not for the same reason as many, I expect. I remember in middle school maybe I had to write a paper on a poem, and my weird ass chose The Tell-Tale Heart. I saw a level of self awareness in this one, less horror. He was afraid of being seen, afraid of being caught. His actions haunted him, but mostly he just couldn't forgive himself. He couldn't reconcile himself and acting out was his recourse.

Honestly, it's a huge metaphor for being a parent, particularly a parent of a child with chronic illness. Always questioning, always worrying, needing to forgive the anger, frustration, the lack of patience. Sometimes we break things, sometimes we yell or make a mess. Like Poe, we can be vulnerable and that's extra burdensome when you want to be, no HAVE to be the one with answers. Maddening is an understatement.

Well, I don't want to end on that note so I'll re-up this song that's hit me hard in the past few months. Excellent lyrics. Great for Halloween, just unsettling enough to make you think. Ms. Hayley Williams deserves all the glory for certain. Not endorsing Fallon but check out her live performance on his show recently.

They put up chainlink fences underneath the biggest bridges
They pose in Christmas cards with guns as big as all their children
They say that Jesus is the way but then they gave him a white face
So they don't have to pray to someone they deem lesser than them

The South will not rise again
Til it's paid for every sin
Strange fruit, hard bargain
Till the roots, Southern Gotham

I'm the one who still loves your ghost
I reanimate your bones
With my belief
And I'm the one who still loves your ghost
I reanimate your bones
Cause I'm a true believer

-Til the last drop, N