Guest Bards: You Will Never Know Me

Helenas Pony

 

When Hamlet went mad

I was Ophelia

drowning in a river of tears.

But I came back to play another role

as I always do.

If you thought I was truly Ophelia,

you are Shakespeare’s fickle fool.

I may only be mad north-by-northwest,

but you wear your naïveté like a strait-jacket,

and that froth around your mouth confirms my suspicions.

You run your dirty finger up my spine,

poring over words you think you know are mine —

but you will never know me.

 

If I were to cry,

my tears are mine alone.

My salty pain you’d never taste;

I’d turn my face into the wind

and let my tears, like wax, be dried upon my cheeks.

I’d keep my bitter grief all to myself,

while you distilled in bottles sadness that you claim is mine

and sold them on the streets to lonely poets with no hearts.

Are you surprised they want their money back

when your snake-oil leaves them wanting?

 

You say you know my face and hear the beat of my heart,

and you love to speak my name and call it art —

but you will never know me.

 

I hide in plain sight,

bathing in sunshine as you play your little games.

You speak as if you know me,

and you wrap your hands around me,

trying to capture, strangle, kill me.

But I squirm away, build my cocoon

and disappear, as I always do.

When I emerge, I’ll fly away,

so put aside your killing jar —

I’ll not be pinned down in your collection

 

You puzzle over pieces of someone you think you know,

never wondering if perhaps all of these things are just a show

and so —

you will never know me.

 

Helena Visage

 Helena Hann-Basquiat dabbles in whatever she can get her hands into, just to say that she has.

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READ MORE at her blog; On Being the Memoirs of Helena Hann-Basquiat, Dilettante

 

Bards’ Verdict: I guess we’ll never know her, but she writes so beautifully, casting webs of aching loneliness to catch you up and hang you there, helpless, wondering whether you’ll be noticed in time, or whether the spiders will get you…

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8 comments on “Guest Bards: You Will Never Know Me

  1. Reblogged this on Being the Memoirs of H̶e̶l̶e̶n̶a̶ ̶H̶a̶n̶n̶-̶B̶a̶s̶q̶u̶i̶a̶t̶,̶ ̶D̶i̶l̶e̶t̶t̶a̶n̶t̶e̶ Jessica B. Bell, Creepy Fucker and commented:
    I very rarely write poetry anymore, darlings — and when I do, it’s generally impersonal. I spent all my energy baring my emotions — and so I put that part of me away in a box under the bed, or maybe in the back of the closet, I’m not sure. Because being raw is difficult, and painful. It took all the strength I had not to fall apart. I kept trying hard to mend the pieces of my broken heart, and I spent oh so many nights just feeling sorry for myself — I used to cry.. Wait.
    Cribbing lyrics from Gloria Gaynor? Seriously? This is what it’s come to? No, darlings, I promise you better than that. Go check out my offering for Well Tempered Bards.

    Liked by 4 people

  2. lrconsiderer says:

    Helena, thank you SO SO MUCH, cherie, for agreeing to be featured here in our little corner of the Blogosphere. Each time I read this, I find something new to love. My admiration for your talent is boundless 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Twindaddy says:

    Dearest Dilettante…I DO know you!! I’ve read your memoirs! 😉

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Jennie Saia says:

    This is a work of art, and I can think of two people in particular who should read it…

    I’ve read that Zulu people greet each other with words that mean, “I see you.” There’s looking at someone, and then there’s really seeing them.

    Like

  5. […] Because although it looks like you can get to know me here – learn my deep, dark secrets; the thoughts of my heart; the whimsy of my mind and the intensity of my imagination – those things are really only facets, glittering like jewels in the sun, perhaps, but facets nonetheless. And as beautiful as they are, they will never be the full picture. So much more lurks behind them, yet as others have said before; you will never know me. […]

    Like

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