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Shakespeare and Me

You may see me as a fool,
Bearing words too grand to know,
But theatre was your calling,
So to Shakespeare I did go.

I asked him to give me words,
To sway your affection dear,
And listening with attentiveness,
He drew his best works near.

He gave me his grandest words,
And said that you would see,
Though those words are written by his hand,
The sentiments belong to me.

Don’t see them now as obsession.
Don’t look at me with distain,
For I could be the greatest love,
Your heart did ever attain.
There's a story behind this poem lol! A long one too....but trust me...It's worth reading lol!!!

I was in love; not just the pounding heart, flushed cheeks, clammy hands, sorts of love, I was completely incapacitated for normal human functioning. It was as though time, space, and eternity itself simply halted in their continuous flow every moment that man walked by me. I was in love, love of the worst kind: unrequited, for he barely knew my name and surely knew nothing of any the insignificant details that made up my very person. He was able to walk past me every day without so much as a smile my general, dumbfounded, direction, and I would have no more of it.
One early Sunday morning, while the rest of the residence slept, and I was absent-mindedly bringing up the laundry from the dryers downstairs I had forgotten the previous night, when it hit me. The most perfect, ingenious idea my feeble mind had ever concocted hit me square between the eyes. It would work It had to work! He was a first year theatre arts student, surely he of all people could see the grand expression of love behind this idea.
I rushed up the long stairs, nearly dropping my freshly clean clothes over their dustiness, and into my room. There I found my high-school copy of Shakespeare’s “Othello,” and I promptly began to search the pages frantically, as though the words were a precious relic that might disappear if I did not find it quickly. Finally I found them, they were the words of Desdemona in act I, scene III where she professes her undying love for the alienated Moor in front of all the council. In Shakespeare’s immortal words, “...My heart’s subdued/Even to the very quality of my lord./And to his honours and his valiant parts/Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.” It was the most eloquent proclamation for my feelings, and I would show them to the world. I gave thought to using Romeo and Juliet instead, but they seemed to be too obvious a choice, and I was always the type to take the road less travelled.
I took my book along with all my aspirations down to First West, where after waiting for the security guard to pass by (tense few moments those were), I took the pen from the magnetic message pad on his room door, and wrote those immortal words down. I gave thought to putting my extension next to them, but decided against it. After all, the excitement, the mystery, the intrigue would be obliterated by such a bold move, and besides that, I was too afraid, too vulnerable to allow my innermost desires to be known so soon. I then dashed quickly back to my room, praying no one heard my ascent all the way.
And so it began. I arose 6:00am the next morning and left a quote from act II, scene II of Hamlet where in his letter to Ophelia he importunes her to believe his love is real and true. It was the same as before: a simple quote, no explanation, no hint of the author. Upon being told by a trusted confidant, that I may be perceived as a lunatic with an insatiable obsession, I decided to abandon my quotes, and use my own poetry to subdue these obtrusive perceptions. In my poem I professed that I was not obsessed, well, not obsessed in the ugly, stalker-like sense, anyway. I also had the bright idea of including an owl feather from group my grandmother had given me on a caribou hide necklace as a symbol of wisdom and his inalienable freedom, ultimately even from me if he should so desire. This was said in a note attached to the necklace, along with the poem and all my secret hopes that I hung proudly around the message pad on his door. Deep inside my consciousness, I hoped he would wear the necklace as a symbol of him returning my love, and so I watched, I listened, and sent silent pleas to God that I would see that necklace hung happily around his neck. Sadly though, I did not see him that day, and nothing could have prepared me for what would happen the next day.
Another trusted friend, knowing of my wayward plan, decided that we should make the journey down to First West where he would intercede to find out my love’s true thoughts of his mystery admirer. Upon reaching his door, the most unpredictable sight was beheld. He had written a quote on the door from Hamlet, from which scene and act, I knew not. Surely I know not even the quote any longer. I suppose our soul decides to forget some things it finds too hard to remember. All I know is that, in summary, it said that I should let my actions match my grand words and actually do something about this love I hold. I was shocked; shocked, mobilized, and motivated to an exponential degree. I ripped the pen from the door and wrote in large cursive letters, “Fine! Call me! Ext. 1270," and promptly proceeded back to my room to wait for my phone to ring. My companions thought I had lost what little sense God granted me, but I was past reasoning. I wanted to know right then and there if he had any common feel what-so-ever toward the person who had so carefully, so intently crafted the mystery of which my love was its integral core.
I waited an hour, then another half an hour, then another, and yet the phone did not ring. I even checked to be sure I did not have the ‘Do Not Disturb’ feature enabled and that the phone had a dial tone so that there was nothing impeding the progression of our potential communication, but there was nothing. Feeling defeated, I logged onto MSN where the original friend who had told me I might be seen as crazy, promptly greeted me. I told him of my most pitiful situation. I told him of how helpless, how stupid I was to have believed someone as exceptional as him would have ever given someone as unexceptional as me the time of day. He asked me if I really believed what I said, and I replied that I was not sure, but the circumstances would seem to point to such a conclusion. Then he showed me a different perception, one I had not thought of before. He told me of how a million different variables could have kept his call from me, and that I was strong enough to find out on my own, without the separation of a phone line as security, whether he cared for me or not. He showed me that I was no less than any other person, and I was empowered.
I marched proudly down the steps to his room where I found a note saying he was in the laundry room, so I marched on: a captain in the brigade of my confidence. As I entered, I saw his bright blue eyes stare up at me from the English anthology he was reading and I was weakened. I saw the wonderful way his blond waves framed his face and the features of his tall, lean body, draped themselves over the chair and onto the table where his feet were rested. I weakened further as I felt my knees begin to give way beneath me, but I pressed on, forcing myself to sit next to him at the table. He was wearing the necklace I made, and I smiled silently to myself. It was a sign, a wonderful sign that he must care for me. “Where’d you get the necklace?” I asked.
“I dunno. Someone left it on my door,” he replied in a disinterested sort of way, but I proceeded anyway, I needed him to solve the puzzle, for my own sake.
“It’s owl feather, isn’t it?” I continued, hoping that my exemplary knowledge of the object would be suspicious, but he was dense, barely looking once from his book to where I sat, and curtly replied that it was.
“Do you know who gave it to you?” I prodded still. I was past the point of giving up by now and even though he simply said no, I kept my composure. I stared deep into his eyes, those eyes I loved so very much, and in a slow, esoteric, voice I asked him if he was sure and he finally caught on. His eyes grew wide with astonishment before they looked away, gathered up his clothes and left me sitting there, with a million questions of a vanquished soul. Feeling defeated, I headed back to my room, where I once again confided in my friend. He told me to ask him why he left and that no answers would be found by simply sitting by and mourning a wound that might yet be mended. He once again gave me the strength to face my rejection head on, and find some learning experience from it. Who was this man to leave me without a word? For all the effort I have placed on this, I should at least deserve an answer, and an answer I would have.
The rest is merely history. I went to his room, asked him straight up why he left, and he told me that it was because he thought someone else was his admirer and that he’d left a note for her on her message pad too. I asked him if he had any common feeling toward me at all, and he replied in a round about way, weaving bits of bitter truth amongst sugar sweet deceptions which amounted to the simple fact that he cared for me not. It was a tangled mess of emotions for all, but at least I was not the one whose responsibility it was to tell that poor girl her Romeo was misinformed. It was a bittersweet story in the end, but I am a better, more confident person for it. I am glad that I tried, that I spread my aspirations like seeds in the field of reality, even if my harvest was nothing more than my own collected tears.
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:iconbeth-b-free:
Beth-B-Free Featured By Owner Mar 11, 2016  Hobbyist Digital Artist
This is so freaking beautiful.
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:iconcarcar12012:
Carcar12012 Featured By Owner Sep 16, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Freaking beautiful!!
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:iconsarahthechipmunk:
SarahTheChipmunk Featured By Owner Mar 24, 2008
Your poem is brilliant and as for the story? I do believe that the Bard himself would be proud of such a tale. You were so brave, it's fantastic. If only I had your courage.
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:iconmmewench:
MmeWench Featured By Owner Aug 19, 2007  Student
i agree with rosalafae. your story is of shakespearean content! and your poem is brilliant! bravo!
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:iconpoetically-yours:
Poetically-Yours Featured By Owner Aug 27, 2007
Alas, the men of my affection never seem to appreciate those Shakespearian efforts though. But thank you so much for the thoughtful compliment.
Reply
:iconrosalafae:
rosalafae Featured By Owner Aug 6, 2007
Wow, that's one hell of a story. That sort of plot is worthy of the Bard himself. You should be proud you did something so innovative.

The poem is also lovely.
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:iconpoetically-yours:
Poetically-Yours Featured By Owner Aug 27, 2007
Innovative isn't always effective. People like to be set in their ways when it comes to courting: you meet at a party/bar/through friend, you hang out with mutual friends, you go out for coffee alone, you go out for movie alone, then you stick the convienent label of bf/gf on them. People sometimes seem bewildered by an unconventional way at approaching romance. They lose their little safety nets and get forced to make a decision on the spot, follow their heart for once in their lives...and unfortunately, many people get scared.

Kinda sucks because I've always tried to live my life with as little fear as possible, so it's hard when you see someone else ruled by something Rosevelt disproved in his immortal quote.

Anywho, thanks for the thoughtful comment!
Reply
:iconrosalafae:
rosalafae Featured By Owner Sep 2, 2007
I guess fear rules us all sometimes. But I really respect your spark of romance - there should be more of that in the world.
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:iconpoetically-yours:
Poetically-Yours Featured By Owner Sep 3, 2007
I whole-heartedly agree.
Reply
:iconrosalafae:
rosalafae Featured By Owner Sep 3, 2007
:)
Reply
:iconsemideus:
semideus Featured By Owner Dec 2, 2005  Professional Photographer
hmmmm... I like both the poem and the story
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:iconpoetically-yours:
Poetically-Yours Featured By Owner Dec 2, 2005
lol I can't believe someone took the time to read it...seeing as its kinda a mini novel and all!
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:iconsemideus:
semideus Featured By Owner Dec 2, 2005  Professional Photographer
:)
I liked that mini-novel very much:)
Reply
:iconpoetically-yours:
Poetically-Yours Featured By Owner Dec 3, 2005
:) That's great. I think it makes a pretty funny story, even though at the time I was quite upset. It took me a while to realize I was better off without him, and that I was more in love with the idea of him than the actual person.

*Sighs* I hate egotistical people so much. lol
Reply
:iconsemideus:
semideus Featured By Owner Dec 3, 2005  Professional Photographer
hmmmm... I´m a bit egotistic myself. But I know what you mean.
Reply
:iconpoetically-yours:
Poetically-Yours Featured By Owner Dec 3, 2005
I'm not so much...I think I'm more toward the opposite side of the spectrum...I constantly question myself...But the way I see it that way I can never be proven blind because I'm always re-evaluating the validity of my actions.
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:iconsemideus:
semideus Featured By Owner Dec 4, 2005  Professional Photographer
hmmm... wise words.
Reply
:iconpoetically-yours:
Poetically-Yours Featured By Owner Dec 4, 2005
Yeah I thought so too....When you think about it, the people who do the most dastardly deeds are always the ones who think they are so intrinically justified....They don't re-evaluate themselves.
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