I was an odd kid--I don't just mean the whole biracial thing--I cultivated weird. As a teenager I preferred PBS to MTV, and jazz to anything that played on the radio or the "black" music that came on KBOO only on Saturday nights. But still, I fell in love (many times) the way teenagers do. Oh, love made me so helpless and hopeless. So, I turned to poetry. I thought of this today as I was looking at my bookshelf and saw my old copy of Shakespeare's sonnets. This sonnet, which I was surprised to realize I still have memorized, was my companion as I suffered through many unrequited loves.
BEING your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor sevices to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those!
So true a fool is love, that in your Will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.