They look longer. You don’t see them grow, but one day, you notice that they sure are long. And then, you bend one. The long nail will grow no further.
Forget about everything but the cold green forest of grins on your back, in your face, at your feet. Forget about it all. Lying at the bottom of a can of stewed tomatoes. It doesn’t really matter. No. It doesn’t.
“I don’t care how bad it is, don’t even bring your bad attitude in here, where I have customers that are enjoying themselves.” Her voice was clipped, beign trained well by her father.
“Please, just let us clean up, we won’t take too long.” The men pleaded.
“No.”
She tells me she just needs a little clipped off and I tell her to wait. She goes. Once again she is unhappy with the result and I get to hear those wonderful little words – “you were right. You’re always right”.
Clipped
Clipped
Our hearts clipped to clotheslines,
We were wondering
Just what to do
Just what was okay
If we were okay
If we’d be okay
We’ll be okay.
THis morning I clipped an article out of the paper about a woman and her daughter who is ill. They were walking along the beach in attempt to reagain a sense of togetherness and wonder of the world.
Clipped from daily experience. That’s what friendship is. We get clippings of each others reality, and upon those we build our relationships. Bridging the gaps between ourselves, and shoring up the places where we unite.
I wish you would just stop making our time into a joke. We don’t have much time to talk each night and you treat it like it’s nothing. I love you and I miss you and I feel like you don’t feel the same. I don’t know if that’s your way of coping with me being clipped out of your life, but get serious, before I clip you out of mine.
this weirdly reminds me of clipping my fingernails. I don’t like the word clipped because it reminds me of cut. Anything that hurts you really. Or sharp. I just don’t like the word. Like, “OOPS! I just clipped your finger, when I meant to clip your NAIL!” And then come the tears.
She watched her mother’s hands; how beautifully they moved, how graceful! She wondered how many times those hands had been burnt by an oven, or the times when they caressed her own head at night when her mother had tucked her in. How many band-aids had she held or sewing needles or coffee cups. Long slender fingers, ghosty pale with neatly clipped finger nails and calloused knuckles from years of use. Tendons and veins hiding just beneath their fleshy tent cover that showed during late nights at when she typed typed typed at her computer. She looked down at her own ugly hands, tan from her Indian genes and days in the sun, short wobbly fingers with chewed off paint spattered nails. She wished for those beautiful, graceful hands.
i see them fall, saunter slowly to the ground. but this is what i wanted right? i wanted them off, mywings clippede my freedombroken. I wantedto know what it was like to work for what i recieved or maybe i ma just a fool not to realize what i had to begin with maybe i didnt see how lucky i was
sometimes people say that their wings have been clipped, that they can no longer fly
i believe that their wings are not clipped, but just tied together like the shoe laces of bowling shoes… their made to be untied though sometimes the knots pretty tight
Clipped nails litter the floor, among beer cans, take out cartons, and used tissues.
Stan is asleep on the couch with his hand on his stomach, snoring tongue hanging out of his mouth, a fly buzzing by his ear.
He held the lock of hair he had clipped from her head, and she stared back in horror as it turned to ash in his fingers. It was then that he learned: she was more mortal than she gave herself credit for.
The picture got clipped while passing through censor board. It was said that the movie had gore and vulgar scenes that cause the clipping of the movie.
she clipped his hair and spoke in a clipped british accent. “I only clipped her wings, i don’t see why she’s so upset that i won’t let her go to that party.” She clipped up a chunk of his hair and snipped and snipped.
It’s a suicide note. Proper grammar doesn’t matter in a suicide note. Nothing matters in a suicide note except that you say why you offed yourself and you make sure everyone knows there was nothing they could do.
Except there was plenty they could have done. They could’ve had your back like this creepy little guy here. “Did you mean ‘I’m not alone?’”
Stupid paperclip. You shut your laptop and go to sleep.
It’s a suicide note. Proper grammar doesn’t matter in a suicide note. Nothing matters in a suicide note except that you say why you offed yourself and you make sure everyone knows there was nothing they could do.
But there was plenty they could have done. They could’ve had your back like this creepy little guyaperclip here. “Did you mean ‘I’m not alone?'”
Stupid paperclip. You shut your laptop and go to sleep.
stripped dipped lipped in your ear. Far from the course and head strong with desire. Time is gone and lost but not wasted. Longer have you claimed fools hearts than have they pursued you. Go.
It kept falling all over the floor. When we tried to remove, it bunched together in the corner, puffed itself up, shivered slightly. I closed the door but Jimmy flushed it, waved his arms around. It flew into the window.
Entwined as lovers drunken passions
Dreamt wild dreaded dreams
Clipped my wings
My miserable laugh now trips producing a reeling cry
My lover knows
and shoves me aside
I fall scraping my knee on the stone patio
I no longer cry
Robert the doll, they called him. Everyday the little boy with the black coat clipped the doll’s hair with scissors. The boy would do it everyday. “He talks to me,” the boy said to his mother once. “He talk to me Mama.” No one ever listened to him. As years went by, the boy’s bright eyes turned to black pits of possession. No one believed him, and now, the doll controls little Johnny Henderson.
clippped like nails freshly cut grass nails and grassidk. makes me think of the clippers? that basketbal team… i odnt watch or like basketball/ Bet the have to clipp their nails though
they should get endorsed by an actual nail clippers company you know brand name that shit
Clipped is how I feel at the moment. All my thoughts are clipped. I can’t finish. I jump from one to another. September 11th, and how I hate how much I can’t even finish a thought about it before something else that annoys me crops up. Clipped.
from a page
occasional loss of balance
your voice as streaks
nightlight persists
fearful i will be
willing to acknowledge
steel blades shearing
dust cleared from the dry sink
Just write, she says. The words will come, she says. I feel like I’m writing a bunch of movie clips with no connecting plot lines, waiting for some sort of logical meaning or depth. I have yet to find such a prompt as this.
his shoulder blades are simply gaping holes. there’s dried blood, fresh blood, and in-between blood all over him. he’s sobbing, he’s crying, he’s miserable. how could he? he was such a horrible, terrible, frightful, disgusting creature—HIM WHO WAS ONCE GOD’S CHILD—is now a clipped winged angel, bound for the depths of hell.
Just write, she says. The words will come, she says. I feel like I’m writing a bunch of movie clips with no connecting plot lines, waiting for some sort of logical meaning or depth. I have yet to find such a prompt as this.
I clipped off the hair that had gone too far into my eyes. Bangs are always stupid. I’d never liked them anyways. Just another stupid way to get that stupid boy’s attention. Clipped them off in a single fluid motion. It felt rewarding seeing the hair on the ground. Hah.
She was angry with me. Her eyes were burning, flashing, narrowing. Her words were clipped, short, vague. Her hair seemed to frizzle with electricity, static in the tense air between us. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “Of course you are,” is her reply.
While I clipped my finger nails, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked tired. Life had started to take it’s toll on me. I was complacent about my job and I was suffering from a lack of sleep and socialization. I wished that I could change course, but it wasn’t as easy as it had once been. I couldn’t change my major or pick up a different class. I had bills to pay and a place to report to five days out of the week. I wanted my semester in Europe back. I wanted a job and life overseas. Adventure was calling my name. I laid the clippers down and made way for my computer. It was time to book a one way ticket with no planned return.
He clipped the poster into place and then turned and looked her in the eye. “I’m really glad you could help me. It’s always hard to find good poster makers.”
“Anytime, I love helping out the pep club.”
He then grabbed her and kissed her fondly. “I guess you know why I really helped now.”
as if i’ve grown out too far, and need to be managed. but it must be too much effort to retrieve me, because they’d all rather slip me off the edge with a simple smile, a word, a gesture that i don’t quite understand until i’ve hit the bottom. your circle of communications, your target of flattery, you’d like to just cut me off without noticing the consequences, wouldn’t you? too bad in order for you to be so high and i fallen so low, there must have been a way up, and trust me, i’ll be on my way.
They look longer. You don’t see them grow, but one day, you notice that they sure are long. And then, you bend one. The long nail will grow no further.
Forget about everything but the cold green forest of grins on your back, in your face, at your feet. Forget about it all. Lying at the bottom of a can of stewed tomatoes. It doesn’t really matter. No. It doesn’t.
“I don’t care how bad it is, don’t even bring your bad attitude in here, where I have customers that are enjoying themselves.” Her voice was clipped, beign trained well by her father.
“Please, just let us clean up, we won’t take too long.” The men pleaded.
“No.”
Short.
Abrev.
Done.
She tells me she just needs a little clipped off and I tell her to wait. She goes. Once again she is unhappy with the result and I get to hear those wonderful little words – “you were right. You’re always right”.
Clipped
Clipped
Our hearts clipped to clotheslines,
We were wondering
Just what to do
Just what was okay
If we were okay
If we’d be okay
We’ll be okay.
THis morning I clipped an article out of the paper about a woman and her daughter who is ill. They were walking along the beach in attempt to reagain a sense of togetherness and wonder of the world.
Clipped from daily experience. That’s what friendship is. We get clippings of each others reality, and upon those we build our relationships. Bridging the gaps between ourselves, and shoring up the places where we unite.
her wings were clipped
and bleeding and
her head hung like
she was broken
and there was no sound
and there was no light
just time
for all eternity.
I wish you would just stop making our time into a joke. We don’t have much time to talk each night and you treat it like it’s nothing. I love you and I miss you and I feel like you don’t feel the same. I don’t know if that’s your way of coping with me being clipped out of your life, but get serious, before I clip you out of mine.
this weirdly reminds me of clipping my fingernails. I don’t like the word clipped because it reminds me of cut. Anything that hurts you really. Or sharp. I just don’t like the word. Like, “OOPS! I just clipped your finger, when I meant to clip your NAIL!” And then come the tears.
She watched her mother’s hands; how beautifully they moved, how graceful! She wondered how many times those hands had been burnt by an oven, or the times when they caressed her own head at night when her mother had tucked her in. How many band-aids had she held or sewing needles or coffee cups. Long slender fingers, ghosty pale with neatly clipped finger nails and calloused knuckles from years of use. Tendons and veins hiding just beneath their fleshy tent cover that showed during late nights at when she typed typed typed at her computer. She looked down at her own ugly hands, tan from her Indian genes and days in the sun, short wobbly fingers with chewed off paint spattered nails. She wished for those beautiful, graceful hands.
Her wings were clipped with all the letters of rejection. She grounded herself before even trying to take flight.
i see them fall, saunter slowly to the ground. but this is what i wanted right? i wanted them off, mywings clippede my freedombroken. I wantedto know what it was like to work for what i recieved or maybe i ma just a fool not to realize what i had to begin with maybe i didnt see how lucky i was
sometimes people say that their wings have been clipped, that they can no longer fly
i believe that their wings are not clipped, but just tied together like the shoe laces of bowling shoes… their made to be untied though sometimes the knots pretty tight
Clipped nails litter the floor, among beer cans, take out cartons, and used tissues.
Stan is asleep on the couch with his hand on his stomach, snoring tongue hanging out of his mouth, a fly buzzing by his ear.
He held the lock of hair he had clipped from her head, and she stared back in horror as it turned to ash in his fingers. It was then that he learned: she was more mortal than she gave herself credit for.
The picture got clipped while passing through censor board. It was said that the movie had gore and vulgar scenes that cause the clipping of the movie.
she clipped his hair and spoke in a clipped british accent. “I only clipped her wings, i don’t see why she’s so upset that i won’t let her go to that party.” She clipped up a chunk of his hair and snipped and snipped.
What can anyone sat about clipped? Makes me think of being hit by a car; being clipped as it whizzes past. The bastard.
It’s a suicide note. Proper grammar doesn’t matter in a suicide note. Nothing matters in a suicide note except that you say why you offed yourself and you make sure everyone knows there was nothing they could do.
Except there was plenty they could have done. They could’ve had your back like this creepy little guy here. “Did you mean ‘I’m not alone?’”
Stupid paperclip. You shut your laptop and go to sleep.
It’s a suicide note. Proper grammar doesn’t matter in a suicide note. Nothing matters in a suicide note except that you say why you offed yourself and you make sure everyone knows there was nothing they could do.
But there was plenty they could have done. They could’ve had your back like this creepy little guyaperclip here. “Did you mean ‘I’m not alone?'”
Stupid paperclip. You shut your laptop and go to sleep.
stripped dipped lipped in your ear. Far from the course and head strong with desire. Time is gone and lost but not wasted. Longer have you claimed fools hearts than have they pursued you. Go.
It kept falling all over the floor. When we tried to remove, it bunched together in the corner, puffed itself up, shivered slightly. I closed the door but Jimmy flushed it, waved his arms around. It flew into the window.
Entwined as lovers drunken passions
Dreamt wild dreaded dreams
Clipped my wings
My miserable laugh now trips producing a reeling cry
My lover knows
and shoves me aside
I fall scraping my knee on the stone patio
I no longer cry
Robert the doll, they called him. Everyday the little boy with the black coat clipped the doll’s hair with scissors. The boy would do it everyday. “He talks to me,” the boy said to his mother once. “He talk to me Mama.” No one ever listened to him. As years went by, the boy’s bright eyes turned to black pits of possession. No one believed him, and now, the doll controls little Johnny Henderson.
twins always are clipped together
Do not lose what you have clipped, especially a girl.
shortness of breath
laid out
lights
and crowd noise
and this could be your last
clippped like nails freshly cut grass nails and grassidk. makes me think of the clippers? that basketbal team… i odnt watch or like basketball/ Bet the have to clipp their nails though
they should get endorsed by an actual nail clippers company you know brand name that shit
Clipped is how I feel at the moment. All my thoughts are clipped. I can’t finish. I jump from one to another. September 11th, and how I hate how much I can’t even finish a thought about it before something else that annoys me crops up. Clipped.
from a page
occasional loss of balance
your voice as streaks
nightlight persists
fearful i will be
willing to acknowledge
steel blades shearing
dust cleared from the dry sink
Just write, she says. The words will come, she says. I feel like I’m writing a bunch of movie clips with no connecting plot lines, waiting for some sort of logical meaning or depth. I have yet to find such a prompt as this.
his shoulder blades are simply gaping holes. there’s dried blood, fresh blood, and in-between blood all over him. he’s sobbing, he’s crying, he’s miserable. how could he? he was such a horrible, terrible, frightful, disgusting creature—HIM WHO WAS ONCE GOD’S CHILD—is now a clipped winged angel, bound for the depths of hell.
he is bitter.
Just write, she says. The words will come, she says. I feel like I’m writing a bunch of movie clips with no connecting plot lines, waiting for some sort of logical meaning or depth. I have yet to find such a prompt as this.
I clipped off the hair that had gone too far into my eyes. Bangs are always stupid. I’d never liked them anyways. Just another stupid way to get that stupid boy’s attention. Clipped them off in a single fluid motion. It felt rewarding seeing the hair on the ground. Hah.
She was angry with me. Her eyes were burning, flashing, narrowing. Her words were clipped, short, vague. Her hair seemed to frizzle with electricity, static in the tense air between us. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “Of course you are,” is her reply.
While I clipped my finger nails, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked tired. Life had started to take it’s toll on me. I was complacent about my job and I was suffering from a lack of sleep and socialization. I wished that I could change course, but it wasn’t as easy as it had once been. I couldn’t change my major or pick up a different class. I had bills to pay and a place to report to five days out of the week. I wanted my semester in Europe back. I wanted a job and life overseas. Adventure was calling my name. I laid the clippers down and made way for my computer. It was time to book a one way ticket with no planned return.
He clipped the poster into place and then turned and looked her in the eye. “I’m really glad you could help me. It’s always hard to find good poster makers.”
“Anytime, I love helping out the pep club.”
He then grabbed her and kissed her fondly. “I guess you know why I really helped now.”
as if i’ve grown out too far, and need to be managed. but it must be too much effort to retrieve me, because they’d all rather slip me off the edge with a simple smile, a word, a gesture that i don’t quite understand until i’ve hit the bottom. your circle of communications, your target of flattery, you’d like to just cut me off without noticing the consequences, wouldn’t you? too bad in order for you to be so high and i fallen so low, there must have been a way up, and trust me, i’ll be on my way.