[... Posted by Ryan]
So yea. Back to posting poems. The idea of a sabbatical to focus on my stories didn't really do anything. My stories still aren't done and poems are just so amazingly fun. This one, well it's a little older. It's about heartbreak. This one was about me. Now I don't normally write poems about me, but this one needed to come out. And it's good, I think. So I'm posting it.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Untitled.
The fog of doubt,
Replaced the shadow of truth,
Your presence,
Once did prove,
The blinding sun,
Recedes and enlightens,
And in one moment,
I could feel my knees weaken,
Fog has turned solid,
And I can longer trust,
That the emotion once known,
Was ever more than lust,
Doubt,
What you renewed,
I refuse,
To grasp that which you imbued,
And stars guide my love,
Though, not alone,
I still look above for trails,
To lead me back to one,
I look back,
Cleansed of your influence,
And realize it was more fun,
Than anything of conscience,
Whole lies and no truths,
The base of all of our time,
But I never lied to you,
We could have been divine,
Return to the life you held previously,
And I shall remain in mine,
I hold steadily alone,
In a world of my own design,
Alone I mourn your indecision,
Your inability to let yourself be happy,
But you're free now, in your insecurity,
I won't be here for your convenience anymore.
February 15, 2011
Safe Haven - Sunset
[...posted by Ted H]
As promised, some motha fucking backstory.
A bit awkward, but once all the introductions are out of the way, it should all run smoother...
.........................
[Safe Haven - Sunset]
Cayra’s pace quickened as she made for the edge of the city. It was getting closer to curfew but she wanted to watch the sun set. She reached the last tall building before the walls and made her way inside. Before everything had gone to hell, this was an office building where unimportant people made money off the hard work of slightly less important people. No one knew what company the offices were for, everything had since been obliterated beyond recognition. No one would care either way if the building was in pristine condition because the building was too close to the edge of the city. No one bothered taking up residence inside for fear of being too close to where the zombies were. There were also some nights where you couldn’t get to sleep the moaning of the undead would get so loud.
Cayra entered and made her way up the main staircase all the way to the roof. There the high walls still towered overhead, but she could watch the sun set longer than any other person could. She found a nice place to sit and watched. It always felt tranquil, knowing that even though the apocalypse had seemingly swept across the world, life still went on. The sun still rose in the morning and set in the evening. Life went on, even if most humans on earth were dead. It also suggested that if somehow humanity were to overcome the undead, then it could also rebuild. As long as the sun kept rising, then there was still hope.
The sun began to creep behind the wall now. The giant walls surrounding the city are what make the last refuge of humanity, Safe Haven, so safe. They keep the undead out, and humanity in. Cayra often felt overwhelmed at the tremendous effort and cost it took her just to reach this place. She also felt selfish that despite the amount of people who died, she was among the fraction of the world that managed to survive. But above all else, she felt amazement that she could even feel so overwhelmed and selfish after 13 years.
13 years. It may have been that long, but Cayra always felt like it all happened recently. The initial infection, how so many people mysteriously died at random. There was no rhyme or reason to the infection. No trend, no common cause, nothing. Just one day, people started dying, then they would get up and start eating others. Then she remembered holding up in a small 2 bedroom apartment with well over a dozen people. It was there she had first heard about this place.
A place called Safe Haven, billed as the last refuge of humanity, had been erected in California and was welcoming as many living people as it could hold. Government protocols, barricaded houses and attempts to escape for the ocean were all shoddy if not doomed endeavors, but this Safe Haven offered what nowhere else could: unquestioned safety and a large and diverse amount of humanity to rebuild with.
There was no need for discussion, they needed to get there somehow. The only disagreement was over how soon. Some wanted to leave immediately, while the rest felt they needed to plan and prepare for the trip. Cayra was part of the group that wanted to wait, and it proved to be a smart choice. Of those people that left immediately, Cayra never saw any of them again. When her group finally made the trip, it was a race against time. Safe Haven was safe for entry at the time because of a small army holding off the dead while survivors flocked. To attempt entry after the men with guns retreated would’ve been suicide.
The journey to Safe Haven was a long and dangerous trip that Cayra doesn’t like to recall. Still, despite the cost and sacrifice, she had made the trip across the country to where Safe Haven was. Now 13 years later, while it’s still as safe as day one, it’s also a living hell. Because nowadays safety from the undead comes at the cost of humanity itself.
There are no weapons allowed in Safe Haven. Since there were no zombie to fight inside, the people in charge, the ones who funded and build the walls, deemed it unnecessary to own a weapon and banned them out of fear that people would use them against each other. Drugs and alcohol are also banned so that when humanity emerges from the apocalypse, they would be more perfect and vice free, or that was the idea at least.
People in the city are expected to stay in line. Early on, if someone caused too much trouble, the police force would toss them out into the wasteland. Now if someone becomes too unruley, it's easier to just deal with them in a more direct fashion, usually resulting with that person being shot. The police force are known as the Residential Enforcers, or “ResEs” and are the only people allowed to carry weapons. They were originally the remnants of the army that fought off the undead while Safe Haven was constructed. In order to swell the numbers of enforcers needed, non-military personnel were chosen to join. Eventually, the ResEs became deluded, no longer reflecting what they originally were. And when it was obvious that their superiors would turn a blind eye to their actions, the abuse of power was the next logical step.
There were two things to always be mindful of in Safe Haven: the potential for zombies, and how long you have until curfew. The purpose of a curfew was originally so the ResEs could more easily sweep through and deal with any undead that may have found a way in, or if any survivors were infected and managed to slip through early detection. Now the only thing to fear after dark are the ResEs themselves. If caught in the night by one, there was no telling what they might do with you. Rape, rifle target practice, beatings, or maybe they would “volunteer” you to be a guinea pig for the science team who were constantly trying new things to find a cure, or more effective way to combat the dead. Either way, few survive getting caught after curfew, and they usually wish they didn’t.
Cayra pushed these thoughts aside as the sun continued to creep further behind the wall. She got up and dusted herself off. “Another day and we’re still alive,” she said as she made for the stairs. It was time to get going, curfew was about to take over.
As promised, some motha fucking backstory.
A bit awkward, but once all the introductions are out of the way, it should all run smoother...
.........................
[Safe Haven - Sunset]
Cayra’s pace quickened as she made for the edge of the city. It was getting closer to curfew but she wanted to watch the sun set. She reached the last tall building before the walls and made her way inside. Before everything had gone to hell, this was an office building where unimportant people made money off the hard work of slightly less important people. No one knew what company the offices were for, everything had since been obliterated beyond recognition. No one would care either way if the building was in pristine condition because the building was too close to the edge of the city. No one bothered taking up residence inside for fear of being too close to where the zombies were. There were also some nights where you couldn’t get to sleep the moaning of the undead would get so loud.
Cayra entered and made her way up the main staircase all the way to the roof. There the high walls still towered overhead, but she could watch the sun set longer than any other person could. She found a nice place to sit and watched. It always felt tranquil, knowing that even though the apocalypse had seemingly swept across the world, life still went on. The sun still rose in the morning and set in the evening. Life went on, even if most humans on earth were dead. It also suggested that if somehow humanity were to overcome the undead, then it could also rebuild. As long as the sun kept rising, then there was still hope.
The sun began to creep behind the wall now. The giant walls surrounding the city are what make the last refuge of humanity, Safe Haven, so safe. They keep the undead out, and humanity in. Cayra often felt overwhelmed at the tremendous effort and cost it took her just to reach this place. She also felt selfish that despite the amount of people who died, she was among the fraction of the world that managed to survive. But above all else, she felt amazement that she could even feel so overwhelmed and selfish after 13 years.
13 years. It may have been that long, but Cayra always felt like it all happened recently. The initial infection, how so many people mysteriously died at random. There was no rhyme or reason to the infection. No trend, no common cause, nothing. Just one day, people started dying, then they would get up and start eating others. Then she remembered holding up in a small 2 bedroom apartment with well over a dozen people. It was there she had first heard about this place.
A place called Safe Haven, billed as the last refuge of humanity, had been erected in California and was welcoming as many living people as it could hold. Government protocols, barricaded houses and attempts to escape for the ocean were all shoddy if not doomed endeavors, but this Safe Haven offered what nowhere else could: unquestioned safety and a large and diverse amount of humanity to rebuild with.
There was no need for discussion, they needed to get there somehow. The only disagreement was over how soon. Some wanted to leave immediately, while the rest felt they needed to plan and prepare for the trip. Cayra was part of the group that wanted to wait, and it proved to be a smart choice. Of those people that left immediately, Cayra never saw any of them again. When her group finally made the trip, it was a race against time. Safe Haven was safe for entry at the time because of a small army holding off the dead while survivors flocked. To attempt entry after the men with guns retreated would’ve been suicide.
The journey to Safe Haven was a long and dangerous trip that Cayra doesn’t like to recall. Still, despite the cost and sacrifice, she had made the trip across the country to where Safe Haven was. Now 13 years later, while it’s still as safe as day one, it’s also a living hell. Because nowadays safety from the undead comes at the cost of humanity itself.
There are no weapons allowed in Safe Haven. Since there were no zombie to fight inside, the people in charge, the ones who funded and build the walls, deemed it unnecessary to own a weapon and banned them out of fear that people would use them against each other. Drugs and alcohol are also banned so that when humanity emerges from the apocalypse, they would be more perfect and vice free, or that was the idea at least.
People in the city are expected to stay in line. Early on, if someone caused too much trouble, the police force would toss them out into the wasteland. Now if someone becomes too unruley, it's easier to just deal with them in a more direct fashion, usually resulting with that person being shot. The police force are known as the Residential Enforcers, or “ResEs” and are the only people allowed to carry weapons. They were originally the remnants of the army that fought off the undead while Safe Haven was constructed. In order to swell the numbers of enforcers needed, non-military personnel were chosen to join. Eventually, the ResEs became deluded, no longer reflecting what they originally were. And when it was obvious that their superiors would turn a blind eye to their actions, the abuse of power was the next logical step.
There were two things to always be mindful of in Safe Haven: the potential for zombies, and how long you have until curfew. The purpose of a curfew was originally so the ResEs could more easily sweep through and deal with any undead that may have found a way in, or if any survivors were infected and managed to slip through early detection. Now the only thing to fear after dark are the ResEs themselves. If caught in the night by one, there was no telling what they might do with you. Rape, rifle target practice, beatings, or maybe they would “volunteer” you to be a guinea pig for the science team who were constantly trying new things to find a cure, or more effective way to combat the dead. Either way, few survive getting caught after curfew, and they usually wish they didn’t.
Cayra pushed these thoughts aside as the sun continued to creep further behind the wall. She got up and dusted herself off. “Another day and we’re still alive,” she said as she made for the stairs. It was time to get going, curfew was about to take over.
February 14, 2011
Kind of a Slam Poet
[... Posted by Ryan]
Well, this is kind of a slam poem. For those of you who don't know SLAM it's basically poetry meant to be spoken word. Poetry with true rhythm, great pentameter. And it has to express something worth saying out loud. Instead of picking a topic I just wrote... Until I couldn't think of anything else to write. But here goes.
"The Floor"
Well, this is kind of a slam poem. For those of you who don't know SLAM it's basically poetry meant to be spoken word. Poetry with true rhythm, great pentameter. And it has to express something worth saying out loud. Instead of picking a topic I just wrote... Until I couldn't think of anything else to write. But here goes.
"The Floor"
It’s where my jaw fell,
When I thought about a moment alone,
Where all that was empty,
Could possibly be full.
Floored,
Like the once happy,
But now sad,
The once open,
But now mad,
Like the twang sound,
Of a country boy,
Who came home a city man,
Floored,
Like the possibilities,
I once saw that are all gone,
Sprawling, Grasping, Clutching,
For one more handle,
To bear the reigns in,
Once more,
I’d like to clutch,
Shift it all on down to neutral,
And bring these horses to a calmer pace,
But it’s on the floor,
Where my jaw lies,
Where my surprise hides,
And why I can’t even seem to try,
But it shows blank in my eyes,
The way I think this will go tonight,
Floored,
My thoughts of,
How the world goes,
Of how this poem flows,
And the wild passion throes,
Because who in the world knows?
I could be a reader, a rhymer,
A preacher, A tyrant,
And you’d all still say the same thing,
Because he’s a man without soul,
And you all want to know,
Who really truly knows,
Well that’s no one,
And that’s the truth,
So we’ll keep pain inside,
And remember all the lies,
That the world tends to spread as news,
And I’ll keep on the floor,
Because if you look for the clues,
You’ll see that the floor is the place,
When you ever want to displace,
Those feelings and thoughts of the blues,
February 11, 2011
Safe Haven - Intro pt.2
[...posted by Ted H]
Lil bit to finally end the intro sequence. Not much, but Ive been too busy gloating over the Super Bowl. I did some editing to this part to make it seem a little bit more serious than before.
Next time I shall provide some motha fucking backstory.
.................................
[Safe Haven - Intro pt.2]
Patrick continued to survey the continuing dilapidation of his church until a faint glow caught his eye in a corner in the back. The glow illuminated from a cigarette a man dressed in black was smoking. Their eyes locked for a moment before the man walked out from the shadows and into view. “You’ve been gone a while,” Patrick said as the man grabbed a toppled chair and walked over. “Been busy,” he said as he took a drag of his cigarette and placed the chair down backwards and sat down on it, resting his arms in front of him on the back of the chair.
“Busy killing?” Patrick asked as the man chuckled, smoke escaping from his mouth and nose as he tried to suppress a laugh. “That’s one way of putting it,” he said. “You believe in another way?” Patrick asked as he sat down on a nearby pew, pushing aside a tattered bible to make room. “They’re already dead,” The man responded “You can’t kill what’s already dead.”
“They are still people.”
“They were people.”
“Hmm…well what about the others that you’ve killed? The ones that still breathe.”
“They don’t count as people.”
“And who exactly put you in a position to decide that?”
“They did, when they made the same decision about me and everyone else in this city.”
Patrick stood up and distanced himself. “Did you come here to lecture?” he asked. The man took a final drag from his cigarette before putting it out. “Nah,” he said while flicking the butt away “Just some nice small talk.” Patrick shook his head. “Jake, you hate small talk.”
Lil bit to finally end the intro sequence. Not much, but Ive been too busy gloating over the Super Bowl. I did some editing to this part to make it seem a little bit more serious than before.
Next time I shall provide some motha fucking backstory.
.................................
[Safe Haven - Intro pt.2]
Patrick continued to survey the continuing dilapidation of his church until a faint glow caught his eye in a corner in the back. The glow illuminated from a cigarette a man dressed in black was smoking. Their eyes locked for a moment before the man walked out from the shadows and into view. “You’ve been gone a while,” Patrick said as the man grabbed a toppled chair and walked over. “Been busy,” he said as he took a drag of his cigarette and placed the chair down backwards and sat down on it, resting his arms in front of him on the back of the chair.
“Busy killing?” Patrick asked as the man chuckled, smoke escaping from his mouth and nose as he tried to suppress a laugh. “That’s one way of putting it,” he said. “You believe in another way?” Patrick asked as he sat down on a nearby pew, pushing aside a tattered bible to make room. “They’re already dead,” The man responded “You can’t kill what’s already dead.”
“They are still people.”
“They were people.”
“Hmm…well what about the others that you’ve killed? The ones that still breathe.”
“They don’t count as people.”
“And who exactly put you in a position to decide that?”
“They did, when they made the same decision about me and everyone else in this city.”
Patrick stood up and distanced himself. “Did you come here to lecture?” he asked. The man took a final drag from his cigarette before putting it out. “Nah,” he said while flicking the butt away “Just some nice small talk.” Patrick shook his head. “Jake, you hate small talk.”
February 5, 2011
Safe Haven - Intro
[...posted by Ted H]
Aight, gonna post this then prolly drop off the face of the earth for a bit. Super Bowl tomorrow and my Packers are playing. Im either gonna be too euphoric for the next week to do any writing, or Im gonna shoot myself in the head out of misery.
Anyway, this time around Ive got the intro to one of my bigger current projects. Its 90% conversation which I enjoy cuz I get to be lazy while still establishing everything needed. I'm gonna keep commenting about it, the actual story is after.
I'm only posting the intro cuz it sets a certain mood and right after it introduces the 3rd character, the mood and conversation quickly shifts gears. So for now Imma cuttin the scene before that character gets introduced. Seriously, heres how it all would work:
-Intro-strait faced, serious mood.
-Still intro-bring up the zombies, maintain strait faced seriousness of it all
-3rd character introduced-strait faced becomes smirk, seriousness becomes "lol zombie apocalypse"
Not that thats a bad thing, but Id rather keep the conflicting tones distinct from one another before I merge them in future updates. Zombie [drama] stories are of the handle with care variety.
...and now for your feature presentation.
........................................
[Safe Haven - Intro pt.1]
“We’re all ready to die.”
“Pardon?”
“Everyone here could…should die today if they had to.”
“That’s a bit morbid.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Doesn’t change anything. I’m certainly not ready.”
“That depends. Do you grieve anymore?”
“I can’t grieve forever.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It doesn’t?”
“I wasn’t talking about Pete.”
“Who then?”
“Who? How bout the world. Billions upon billions of people. Do you grieve for them?”
“I could.”
“Could?”
“I’m all out of tears.”
“Is that why you stopped grieving for Pete?”
“Not just him. I cried for a lot of people. Everyone I knew, gone. You’re the last friend I have, Father.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“…Patrick.”
“I’m sorry, its just…you know I only pretend to do this to help people…because all the real ones are dead.”
“We all know you pretend, Pat, but it doesn’t mean we still can’t accept you like the real thing.”
“Still though, we’re all ready to just die.”
“Because we don’t grieve?”
“Because we’re no longer affected by it. We’re used to the massive deaths on a daily basis. We’ve lost what made us human. We’re no better than those outside our walls.”
“The zombies?”
“If you have to acknowledge them, yes, the zombies. They’re us except they don’t have humility. Now we’re no better.”
“We have to name them something.”
“For what reason?”
“Psychological. People are less scared when their fear has an identity, a name.”
“You have a point, but these things already had names. They were regular people once. People we all knew and loved, now reduced to targets.”
“I should go.”
“To the graveyard?”
“…”
Cayra refused to answer and instead walked down from the alter where she and Patrick had been standing. “It’s getting late,” she said as she continued up the aisle and out the front doors, leaving Patrick alone. He looked out into the sky through a collapsed part of the roof to regard the setting sun. The church itself was in a sad condition and would rightfully be condemned and abandoned, yet every Sunday, Patrick puts on a mass to a full house of people. Some attend mass out of hope for the future, while the rest only attend out of routine because outside of the routines, there is nothing else to do in Safe Haven other than wait for the inevitable.
Aight, gonna post this then prolly drop off the face of the earth for a bit. Super Bowl tomorrow and my Packers are playing. Im either gonna be too euphoric for the next week to do any writing, or Im gonna shoot myself in the head out of misery.
Anyway, this time around Ive got the intro to one of my bigger current projects. Its 90% conversation which I enjoy cuz I get to be lazy while still establishing everything needed. I'm gonna keep commenting about it, the actual story is after.
I'm only posting the intro cuz it sets a certain mood and right after it introduces the 3rd character, the mood and conversation quickly shifts gears. So for now Imma cuttin the scene before that character gets introduced. Seriously, heres how it all would work:
-Intro-strait faced, serious mood.
-Still intro-bring up the zombies, maintain strait faced seriousness of it all
-3rd character introduced-strait faced becomes smirk, seriousness becomes "lol zombie apocalypse"
Not that thats a bad thing, but Id rather keep the conflicting tones distinct from one another before I merge them in future updates. Zombie [drama] stories are of the handle with care variety.
...and now for your feature presentation.
........................................
[Safe Haven - Intro pt.1]
“We’re all ready to die.”
“Pardon?”
“Everyone here could…should die today if they had to.”
“That’s a bit morbid.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Doesn’t change anything. I’m certainly not ready.”
“That depends. Do you grieve anymore?”
“I can’t grieve forever.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It doesn’t?”
“I wasn’t talking about Pete.”
“Who then?”
“Who? How bout the world. Billions upon billions of people. Do you grieve for them?”
“I could.”
“Could?”
“I’m all out of tears.”
“Is that why you stopped grieving for Pete?”
“Not just him. I cried for a lot of people. Everyone I knew, gone. You’re the last friend I have, Father.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“…Patrick.”
“I’m sorry, its just…you know I only pretend to do this to help people…because all the real ones are dead.”
“We all know you pretend, Pat, but it doesn’t mean we still can’t accept you like the real thing.”
“Still though, we’re all ready to just die.”
“Because we don’t grieve?”
“Because we’re no longer affected by it. We’re used to the massive deaths on a daily basis. We’ve lost what made us human. We’re no better than those outside our walls.”
“The zombies?”
“If you have to acknowledge them, yes, the zombies. They’re us except they don’t have humility. Now we’re no better.”
“We have to name them something.”
“For what reason?”
“Psychological. People are less scared when their fear has an identity, a name.”
“You have a point, but these things already had names. They were regular people once. People we all knew and loved, now reduced to targets.”
“I should go.”
“To the graveyard?”
“…”
Cayra refused to answer and instead walked down from the alter where she and Patrick had been standing. “It’s getting late,” she said as she continued up the aisle and out the front doors, leaving Patrick alone. He looked out into the sky through a collapsed part of the roof to regard the setting sun. The church itself was in a sad condition and would rightfully be condemned and abandoned, yet every Sunday, Patrick puts on a mass to a full house of people. Some attend mass out of hope for the future, while the rest only attend out of routine because outside of the routines, there is nothing else to do in Safe Haven other than wait for the inevitable.
February 4, 2011
The Cowboy
[Posted by Allie]
Just a little something I've been playing with...
******************************************************
He may as well have donned a cowboy hat because the nickname stuck. He wasn't sure why at first. He didn't wear boots or anything you'd see a stereotypical cowboy wearing, but after a few days of people watching, he realized that this was a small town filled with high class people. No one wore jeans. They wore dress shoes or running shoes, khakis, skirts, and perfectly starched and ironed blouses and button down shirts. He was the one that looked like a person who handled horses on a day to day basis with his blue jeans that were worn white in some places, work boots, and white t-shirt. He heard someone remark that he may as well chew on a piece of straw. To him, Farm Boy would have been a better nickname.
The people here drank cosmopolitans and he sipped whiskey from a short glass. And tonight, that's just what he did. He sat in a small booth in the back corner of the bar with his glass and let the liquid warm him all the day down to his gut. He enjoyed the feeling. He only drank one, maybe two glasses, when he went into the bar every few nights, but it was enough for him to feel warm and relaxed. He liked to sip and watch. The people around him seemed nervous when they spotted him, they'd try to pretend they didn't see him. The glances cast his way were a sure sign the still knew he was there.
Just a little something I've been playing with...
******************************************************
He may as well have donned a cowboy hat because the nickname stuck. He wasn't sure why at first. He didn't wear boots or anything you'd see a stereotypical cowboy wearing, but after a few days of people watching, he realized that this was a small town filled with high class people. No one wore jeans. They wore dress shoes or running shoes, khakis, skirts, and perfectly starched and ironed blouses and button down shirts. He was the one that looked like a person who handled horses on a day to day basis with his blue jeans that were worn white in some places, work boots, and white t-shirt. He heard someone remark that he may as well chew on a piece of straw. To him, Farm Boy would have been a better nickname.
The people here drank cosmopolitans and he sipped whiskey from a short glass. And tonight, that's just what he did. He sat in a small booth in the back corner of the bar with his glass and let the liquid warm him all the day down to his gut. He enjoyed the feeling. He only drank one, maybe two glasses, when he went into the bar every few nights, but it was enough for him to feel warm and relaxed. He liked to sip and watch. The people around him seemed nervous when they spotted him, they'd try to pretend they didn't see him. The glances cast his way were a sure sign the still knew he was there.
February 2, 2011
First
[Posted by Bree]
So, with this being my first post, don't hate too bad. I wrote this a long time ago but I wanted to atleast put something on here.
Shame
Fall out of love with me
It's the nights you cry yourself to sleep
That the days seem so long
Shame on me
This time I will drink your kiss
Goodbye
Please be kind; rewind
To a perfectly horrid summer
My heart
Your hands are stained liquid
A delicious crimson
My MacBeth you are not
Don't you ever call me your lady
Shame on me but shame on you.
So, with this being my first post, don't hate too bad. I wrote this a long time ago but I wanted to atleast put something on here.
Shame
Fall out of love with me
It's the nights you cry yourself to sleep
That the days seem so long
Shame on me
This time I will drink your kiss
Goodbye
Please be kind; rewind
To a perfectly horrid summer
My heart
Your hands are stained liquid
A delicious crimson
My MacBeth you are not
Don't you ever call me your lady
Shame on me but shame on you.
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