The Wretchedness of Desdemona

I sit staring at the blank, lined paper that mockingly stares back at me. Today, Ms. Serensky assigned us the task of writing creatively about the meaning of our name in our journals. Desdemona. What a terribly boring name. A name that means “wretchedness.”  How much worse could this be? And with my controlling father constantly forcing my submissive nature, and my loving Othello gone, I can hardly focus on such a dismal topic. How ever shall I think of what to write about? Well…Oh, goodness! There are only seven minutes left! Well, I must come up with something…

“Desdemona”

Like the seas, winds, waves that defeat ships and lives,

So does the wretchedness of Desdemona.

A light, shining vigilantly in the distance,

Does no good when faced with the wretchedness of Desdemona.

And still, when “unkindness may defeat my love” (4.2 . 159)

Thou shalt feel the stinging wrath of the wretchedness of Desdemona.

Without time, without tears, without toil “I cannot tell” (4.2. 108),

But do not dismiss the wretchedness of Desdemona.

Though time may play the unkindly role,

Please forgive the unfortunate wretchedness of Desdemona.

And when my time has come, when death’s raw hands “kills for loving” (5.2. 42)

Do remember the wretchedness of Desdemona.

Well that was perfectly dreadful! And oh, dear! Now we must read them to the class? What poor, unfortunate souls. Well, here goes nothing….

                As I read my poetry, I can here snickering rising in volume as the class becomes frayed about the peculiar meaning of my name. Or is it because they, too, believe I am truly wretched? Oh, how I wish I could be with my Othello now, away from all these indolent people with their haughty attitudes and constant need for attention and approval.  As the snickering rises to a chorus of laughter, Hannah retorts, “Thank you for not laughing at my blog.” I burying my face in my hands as the tears begin to race down my flushed, hot cheeks. Worst. English. Class. Ever.