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Emily Dickinson Was Not A Pussy

emily d

Somewhere along our literary history, people started to think of Emily Dickinson’s poetry as cute and harmless fluff. In truth, it was far darker and more sinister than surface readings or historical reputation would allow. As is often the case with poets and poetry, things were never as simple as they seemed. Ms. Dickinson was a complex character, and her work often delved into the introspective reaches of the soul. What she brought up was not always pretty or nice, and she didn’t disguise it as such. It just took the rest of us a little longer to catch on.

One need not be a Chamber—to be Haunted— 
One need not be a House— 
The Brain has Corridors—surpassing 
Material Place

Far safer, of a Midnight Meeting 
External Ghost 
Than its interior Confronting— 
That Cooler Host.

Far safer, through an Abbey gallop, 
The Stones a’chase— 
Than Unarmed, one’s a’self encounter— 
In lonesome Place

Ourself behind ourself, concealed— 
Should startle most— 
Assassin hid in our Apartment 
Be Horror’s least.

The Body—borrows a Revolver— 
He bolts the Door— 
O’erlooking a superior spectre— 
Or More—

~ Emily Dickinson

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