It was recently announced that Taylor Swift is related to poet Emily Dickinson. It was both unexpected and unsurprising at the same time. It’s interesting considering the contrast between Emily and Taylor: the former kept her writing to herself and only shared with her family and those whose reading taste she admired while the latter is one of the most well-known artists in the world exposing her innermost thoughts with millions. If Emily were alive today, maybe she would have a small baking business, sell flowers and produce at the farmers market, or be a well-known poet. Or maybe, with her interest in singing and piano playing, she would become a singer-songwriter just like Taylor.
Author Aesthetic: Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson was well-known for her iconic white dress, something she wore mostly around the home as a house dress. It was made of cotton and embellished with mother-of-pearl buttons. It was not an unusual dress nor was it expensive. In the few photographs there are of her, not one shows her wearing this dress, but she was well-known for wearing it as she was a homebody and it was passed down through her family as a treasure. It’s safe to say that Emily preferred wearing neutrals.
Further reading:
LITHUB: Taylor Swift is related to Emily Dickinson!
If you’re a Taylor Swift fan, then you know that she’s always leaving us clues through her music, release dates, and friends about upcoming albums, her personal life, and apparently about the fact that she’s related to a 19th-century poet. If the theories are true, she’s been leaving us clues about her tie to Emily for years
A Riddle:
Who am I?
I wake from my slumber when the clock strikes midnight, when the moon shines bright, dark made light. When you drowse, I stir, your mind a blur; your sense in a stupor, as it were. Too late, you left the door unlocked! You won’t suspect, and I won’t get caught. You think you’re in deep, but your judgment is flawed. You fight for your life, and for that I applaud. Once I grab hold, try as you might, you can’t move a muscle nor terror imply. No one can hear you, there’s no place to hide; you try to make a break, but I have your limbs all tied. Your heart is racing, you’re screaming, no sound. Are you suffocating, chest crushed, spellbound? I share whispers in kind, shivers down your spine. I question your sanity and make your thoughts run blind. The end is in sight, dear, I’m your only hope. I’ll soon set you free and leave you alone. But before I go, just so you know, I’ll leave no mark — presto! “No harm, no foul”, so it goes. Until tomorrow, I suppose.
Who am I?