hero of hostility

Photo by Sam J. on Pexels

I might be just a little full of myself, 
contempt revised and reinforced, 
an acid ghost, ahead of the pack, 
a hero of hostility… 
listen:
for a little while today, 
I felt alive again — the most myself 
I’ve felt in quite a while… 
it came on as a surprise, really, 
the lungs returned and the laughs returned 
so, naturally, it felt good… 
and my cheeks felt sort of 
comfortable 
wearing the thing I’d remembered 
as a smile… 
I might be just a little full of myself, 
but sometimes you just sorta have to be, 
and I might have to bend the rules 
a little bit — I’ll even have to let some people down… 
you’ve made me realize that they are never, 
ever going to just let me in 
but, hey, that doesn’t matter, right? 
because I’ll do it, and I’ll keep doing it, 
and I don’t care if you think I never had a chance 
I don’t care if they’ve already made up their minds
about me!
I hear the sounds and I see their eyes — 
go ahead, 
tell me the prize wasn’t meant for me, 
tell me the whole thing was just a lie — I like it that way
I’ll be different…I’ll be better… I’ll find a way, 
a way that is truly mine! 
I might be just a little full of myself, 
but who cares? 
because today I felt alive again

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Garbage Notes:

I talked a couple of weeks ago about the vacillation in confidence that often plagues the writer. How we sometimes can go back and forth between being super confident, thinking our stuff is the greatest thing ever, to then being back in the gutter, thinking every little thing we do is trash.

This is a normal thing. We have to be able to ride the waves of confidence but also be willing to risk drowning in the waters of rejection.

In this poem I am acknowledging that to be a writer means that on some level you are a little bit full of yourself. To convince yourself that large masses of people are so interested in your words that they’d drop their hard earned money down just to get a sample—well, it takes a certain kind of ego to believe in this idea.

On the other hand, it takes a even stranger sort of character to simultaneously accept the humble reality that you’re just one person, and in the grand scheme of things you don’t really matter all that much.

When I say lines like, “Today I felt alive again—the most alive I’ve felt in a while.” That’s the hero talking. That’s the guy willing to brave all the worldly hostility in order to go out there and get what he wants no matter how many people tell him No.

Now, I have to a admit that a good chunk of this poem was fueled by what I consider to be a very important scene in a beloved show called Better Call Saul.

If you know the show, you won’t need much context. There’s a dark sort of motivation to much of what Saul does. He’s kind of devious. He’s a troublemaker. He breaks a lot of rules. He’s super clever, talented, and incredibly hard working. But no one ever seems to have faith in him. They never perceive him as the kind of upstanding successful character that he yearns to be.

In this particular scene, Saul is serving on a law committee to choose a scholarship/internship-thing for this young student—an opportunity that would have been a career-launching thing for this young girl.

Saul thinks she deserves it and tries to get the rest of the committee to choose her. However, of course, she doesn’t get it. And she’s sent back on her way.

Later, Saul learns from the rest of the team that they invited her to the interview as a mere formality, because these men knew she wasn’t going to get it. It’s revealed that she had done something illegal in her past, when she was a young kid, and it had stained her record, effectively ruining her chances.

So, they had already made the decision to reject her before she even walked through the door. But even to the last moment they made her believe she had a chance.

Saul, for good reason, saw some of himself in this young girl, and felt it was crucial to tell her the truth: that they were “never going to let her in…” But more importantly, he needed her to know that if she was going to get anywhere in life, she had to find other non-traditional ways. She had to succeed on her own terms.

A line from my poem that feels particularly poignant when I read it now: “Tell me the prize wasn’t meant for me.”

See, the establishment isn’t going to just let you have it. The people who guard the gates—sometimes they will never see you as being on their level, no matter how hard you try. You have to find a way to reach the top on your own merit, carving your own path.

Ultimately, this is a reminder that if you’re really good, you’ll figure out how to succeed as yourself. You’ll learn just the right way to bend and even break the rules so that things work in your favor.

You’ll figure out how to do it, because the people who constantly tell you NO—you don’t need them. Because you are a hero of hostility, and you will do whatever it takes.

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Franco Amati 2024

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