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AceLione Oct 9
Milady, are thy in need of a handkerchief?
Or an escort out while we take our leave?
I'll shield you from those who wish to harm
Why are thou feelings so shallow yet so warm?
Must remain my posture even though she makes my heart wild
Even wilder than the desires of Adam and Eve's Child

Oh Milady wait for me, I have an umbrella
Who am I? Oh i am just a mere uptown fella
What do i want? No i do not wish these haunting desires
Anyone who says i am that dishonorable are nothing but liars.
No Milady, please wait! i wish you for who you are
No Milady, Don't leave me now after you have left this scar...
Fufufu, Manners maketh Man.
Poetic T May 22
I opened a door,
               feminism reaction

my ***** in my throat.
Some times opening a door is just manners...
Indranys Oct 2018
We live to love..
We live to learn..
All the earth won't be enough for us..
If we live without tolerance..
If we live with love..
And even if the land isn't enough..
We live in every heart..
Spread it among all humans..
The mean of peace..
With love and smiles..
Spread it to the world..
The mean of peace...
With love, smile and beautifull manners...
J Oaks Sep 2018
My feet straighten out as I walk up the road
A typha in my left palm and a worn warm stone
Sentimental?
Or just the dust of petals in my mind?
I just passed a great big pine
What is mine? Is that mine?
A great fine diner is up ahead;
entrance of town and once my homestead with
a paint chipped door schedule written in lead
Peering through the window
There's no breeze though
but the lights glow
but the plants grow
How can I know?
What do I know
The small bell dings and I crash back
The legs walk in let the door smack
I grab my chest and eyes wet my chin
When did the shudder begin?
Felt
Felt a soft red cloth wipe my cheek
Is it her or is it what they think?
a memory
it can be
and certainly hurts
like a memory
A sip from a coffee
she blows on it softly
a snapping blink in the glass
whispering with moments that pass
as much as I want to try to be
J Oaks Sep 2018
I woke up in a glade of gray
Littered fingers and threads of grass flay
Moistened hair, a dampened glare
An enameled heart that stings
Scattered birds have yet to sing
Will it ever matter?
The soft brown dirt pushes down as I rise up
The light rain has filled my old tin cup
Ridges rusted and my eyes are dusted
My wrist-watch is broken and can't be trusted
Fire flies in a jar, they won't get far
lighted my night as my cigarettes tarred
my weakened lungs but elevated my strung-
out manners
It's getting lighter as my skin gets tighter
The clouds shift as the sun gets brighter
I miss the moon, but I know that soon
the day will pass but I won't see noon
How blue
Blue
Emilie Jun 2018
The first part of any small talk is...
"how are you?"
They say "good, how are you?"
I say "I am good too"
Then I must compliment their hair
Ask them about their week
Show them that I care
By smiling cheek to cheek
But deep inside I'm feeling rather weak
Small talk has never come naturally
Anyone relate?
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