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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?
Priya Mar 2018
Tired and exhausted, here I sit
Thinking of the things that have changed today.
M Still confused, why it happened to her.
She has lost everything today.  Everything.
Her childish smile, carefree looks, innocent eyes.
Everything.
It’s lost now.
Her once sparkling eyes are lifeless now,
There she is sitting with a heavy heart,
Like soulless a creature.
Though she has not died physically
But her soul, her purity, her charms, her senses are taken away of her.
She is still pondering what her fault was.
Why that filthy looking creature who she has once considered her uncle
Had touched her.
Why he kissed her like that.
Her once gleaming eyes are now clouded with tears.
Her pride has been shaken.
It seems as if the man’s touch has taken everything that once belonged to her.
She is still wondering why she wasn’t able to react to that man.
Why this was done to her.
She took him to be a father like a figure
And he tried to destroy her pride.
That small girl, who has not turned even sixteen until now
Is surrounded with darkness
Wondering why she was so soft then
Even after knowing whatever is happening is wrong.
She could have called out for help but all she did was,
She sat there mindlessly…….
It wasn’t that she was illiterate a child,
No, she was quite educated a girl.
She had knowledge about the actions that could have been taken.
Yet, she sat there lifelessly….
Angry, no she wasn’t angry
For she knew it was not man’s fault
But it was her fault that she had allowed him so far
She was quite, I guess because she would have been taught to be polite,
To be quite and to behave nicely
For she was born a girl.
She is not suppose to speak out loud
Even if something wrong happens to her
After all she is a girl…..

But yes, indeed some things have changed today
Some emotions took shape in her…some feelings born and some died...
Anger and hate toward men had born
And that small girl of sixteen with gleaming eyes and huge bright smile has died….
She is no more...
The one who replaced her is stronger than ever.
She knows how to speak out loud.
She has learnt that verbally abusing the one
Who is sexually abusing you is better an alternative.
She has learnt to be bold enough to stand against society...
But still emptiness and darkness is there
Somewhere within her
Prevailing continuously
And will keep growing forever…
For her soul has been shattered today……..
SelinaSharday Mar 2018
Left with no suga for lemonade..
You didn't give me any.
Its the bed you made.

My suga hidden locked away I always keep plenty.
Yet you should've  given me some.
You didn't give me any.
Should things become unraveled undone.

Behaviors..
Like gentle flavors
Gifted courtesies.
Texting etiquettes.
Is like a lumpy  preserved sugar cube.
Know that rules in texting has its magnitude.      
Proper mannerisms set for the right attitude.
Like sensual videos from youtube.

Proper texting skills.
Sets the flow for good word adjectives.
If texting don't just walk away.. at least say bye  have a good day.
You were texting me and simply vanished away.
Didn't hear from you till some other day.

No good morning no how are you.
No Sorry I hadn't replied back to you.
The stems that builds proper relationships.
Simple actions that can untie good friendships.
Rude mannerisms, actions, bad timing..too many crazy smilies.
Too much giving, too much doing, way too many gifs cheezies.
Texting at wrongful innappropriate times.
Like at the movies or on a date no good signs.
Manners gone like public phone booths uneeded dimes.

Your rudeness Your going I can't miss.
You have no suga cubes.
Just sour lemons..
Easy to dismiss.

You gave me nothing to make lemonade.
Can't fix this mess you have made.
No suga for lemonade!
By selinasharday all rights reserved..3-2018
texting skills learn some.. like if you were on the phone you wouldn't just hang up,, be kind be considerate.
Scarlet McCall Dec 2017
I am Ma’am.
Ma’am I am.
And if I order
green eggs and ham
at the café,
you can say,
“We don’t serve that here,
Ma’am.”

Miss, I’m not.
I am not Miss.
That appellation
is a dis.
Take a look,
and you’ll see this:
I’m 53, not 18.
I may be older than I seem,
but my days of girlhood are long gone.
And to call me “Miss” would just be wrong.
So call me “Ma’am;” it’s what I am.
You might think “Miss” is hip or flip,
but if you call me that there’ll be no tip.
Unbelievably at a restaurant a waiter called my 81-year-old mother "Miss." It's disrespectful.
Mane Omsy Sep 2017
If I strike their respect, they’ll roar
Burn houses, public properties
All of them demolish the streets
It’s me who must control
Respect their symbols, let them live
In peace

Recollect the past, can you describe
Every incidents of war and massacres
It ain’t safe to be majority nor minority
When they can stand for betterment
We all could live in serenity

Several options, they selected the wrong
Blew words at religions for war
For their arms to be sold
For them, it’s business
For human beings, it’s violence

How do you describe
Showering bullets at children
Bombs on towns, labeling terrorism
Never forget, they are the terror
the poem itself speaks the truth.
Joe Thompson Sep 2017
Dinner with even the gnicest gnomes
Can be excruciating -
Their table manners are less than genteel -
In fact they’re gnauseating.
A bit of silliness
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