They hate you. You hate them. Yet they are you’re drive to become a better you. By competing against your enemies you become stronger. So in a sense, you are helping them and they are helping you.
Time is an enemy, procrastination, wandering, dreaming, leaping, staying still, all possible enemies depending on lack, rush, efficiency, focus, conservancy, hustle. Itʻs not always just about people. Who has time for people enemies when stagnation and frustration are so debilitating.
They are what we fear. What we hate. What we despise. But most of all, they are reminders. Reminders of who we are and what we are and everything about ourselves that we hate and wish we couldn’t be. This is why we have enemies. This is what they are for. Guilt and sadness forever.
Unspoken words between enemies pervaded every atom, their anger consuming the room’s oxygen like a thick smog–toxic, hate filled, potent. The tension pushed through their skin like razor blades, cutting without remorse, breeding the pain that fueled their loathing into new depths. Innocents stepping into the declared zone felt a prickle across their skin sending them into a retreat-and-run for the nearest exit, unsure of what had brushed against their souls but reluctantly aware of the scorching cold left behind through accidental contact. Watching the scene unfold before me like a movie from hell, I suspected that if something born of evil had entered the zone at the same moment it would have reacted equally–if not from fear, then perhaps in reverence and a touch of professional courtesy.
Combeferre didn’t like to think that he had any enemies, not even in the state. Certainly, the monarchy was an oppressive one, but at the end of the day they were all humans, made of the same flesh and blood. If Combeferre could have his way he would prefer a lengthy discussion to violence, would prefer diplomacy to revolution. But that would require the other side to listen.
There are enemies everywhere. I sit in my room and stare at the door. The splintered wood faces stare back. Outside I can hear them whispering. They are silent but they are shouting. I close my eyes and imagine I am a riffle gunner, picking the enemy off, one by one, one by one.
The enemy of life is death, and the enemy of death is anxiety. I am the enemy anxiety – the conscious boy. The enemy of me is fear and passion. The all-American lonely man, the enemy of the social state, the enemy of the world. The enemy consumes all, and all consume the enemy, and all let go when their hands break.
Enemies. The opposite of friends, the people you enjoy surrounding yourself with. Some formidable, others just pesky and more emotional clutter for you to deal with. They are an essential part of life though, they teach you valuable lessons whether or not you choose to listen to them. It is wise to keep the number in your life to a minimum, the purpose they serve is not worth the weight they carry.
“I have always had enemies,” she said dismissively.
I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. “That’s precisely my point, your majesty. You have many enemies and you’ve had them for a long time which is NEVER a good thing,”
“Why is that?”
“Because it means your enemies have many allies,”
She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “And what do you suggest I do, Captain Swan?”
She smiled. “Why your majesty; I suggest you trust me,”
Bruce wandered through the saloon, eyeing every man and especially every woman that drank themselves into a stupor surrounding him. He was on to their ruse. He pulled out his watermelon, his weapon of choice, and laid the charge. In five seconds it would all be over. He lit the fuse and dove for the window.
They used to be friends and they fell apart. Amidst the bustling bullshit they called high school, the very core of their being was disintegrating. They no longer could look at each other, let alone pass one another without clicking their teeth.
Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer. What makes somebody our enemy? Is it somebody that we don’t agree with morally or emotionally or physically? Is it because we secretly desire to have those same traits? Maybe in a different world, if we weren’t so conservative, we would explore the elements like they do. Maybe it’s actually jealously, and not so much hatred.
I have enemies but sometimes I don’t know what they plan to do to me or if they are even planning to begin with. My sister is one of those enemies but sometimes she can be a frenemy. I dont know how you spell it but thats the way its going to stay. Anyways, she is mean and recently she has brought home a boyfriend she started dating 2 days ago. Really? You should probably get to know each other before introducing him to your family so quickly.
The brighter the light, the darker the shadow. And that’s exactly what they were- deep, deep shadows, eternally menacing and haunting footstep with dusk.
He was my worst energies always tightening his finishes with smug grins oozing of wasted appreciation. I hate it. Enemies sour the best moments:: creating a wave of acidic destruction throughout every interaction as though without force ably involving their putrid existence, the magically destroy everything you have. Their presence on Earth alone is enough to tear and pull at my patience. I wish I couldn’t with them: my enemies. I wish I could somehow mend their hatred and jealousy; turning their sneers into productive conversations. We would conjure jokes and ideas:: we would change the world through our efforts. InsteD, we just avoid each other and grow irritable that occasionally our space is shared.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, but sometimes there is comfort in knowing that one person or one group is your enemy and always will be. It’s a constant in life, knowing you’ll always be pitted against them and they will always be pitted against you. It’s a mutual relationship based upon hatred and suspicion and it is something that you never want to change, no matter how difficult things may get or who gets caught in the crossfire.
John had blocked off the bottom of his door with scrap wood, and still the little furry enemies slipped in, night after night. It was a daily battle. He vacuumed the floor, made sure nothing touched it: no bread crumbs, backpack, clothes, nonslippered feet. And in the morning there would be another dead rats in the trap.
In the mornings he would put his gloves on, holding the trap away from his body, and dispose of it. Mona, who lived next door, who was always up early, would eye him like a stern nun as he passed by. Rats never bothered her. Because she told the mice not to (she insisted on calling them mice), and she never harmed animals, she said, ignoring John’s scientifically-minded protests. “Maybe you were a mouse, or will be on, in another life,” she said, “Have you thought about that?”
Men. Everyone. I can’t do it anymore, all of my relationships with people have taken a toll on me. I will forever be alone and I can’t help it. I know that I am happier this way, but I don’t know why I give in and make myself vulnerable. People always let me down and fuck me over. The only people I will ever trust is my family. I think that I need to transfer and get away. Somewhere. I want to be in the song America by Simon and Garfunkel, then I’ll be lost but free instead of trapped.
Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer. Personally, I don’t believe I have any true enemies. I think the idea is infantile. I believe there are people that dislike me but no one that hates me to their core. Maybe it’s time to be mature.
enemies are bad. they stab u in the back. but they also teach u life long lessons and help u realize things about yourself that you never knew unless you come across your enemies. they know how to push your buttons and make you angry. dont let them.
Two years ago, had you asked me, I could never have fathomed that we would have come so far, and gone so awry, that we could have become enemies when once one.
I saw her standing over me, brandishing the bloodied knife. When I awoke, however, it was in my own hand and I realized that there wasn’t another person. Myself and I were enemies all along; I splattered my own blood on the walls and floor. I’ll always have the scar to remind myself of that.
I stared them directly in the eyes. “Give it back,” I said firmly.
Emily sneered. “What are you gonna do, tell my mommy?” She looked at me mockingly. That gave me an idea.
“Yes,” I told her.
Emily’s expression changed. “No, don’t!” she cried out.
I ran down the road. “Too late!” I shouted, Emily desperately running after me.
Enemies closer. My enemies are sinking in closer, coming through my pores in the form of sweat and dirt and smoke. My enemies are all around me, inside me. I can’t let them out.
You have to care for someone in order for them to be your enemy, otherwise they’d simply be a stranger on a different path. Discover the hidden emotion there. It could be love, it could be envy, it could be jealousy, but it’s there to find.
I used to love those hands of yours. The way you walked and smiled. Your cute little laugh and how you were so passionate about babies and natural parenting. Now I hate it. I hate all of it. I hate everything you are as a whole. At your center is a religion that you chose over me. A religion that has you deem me a sinful mistake. You are christian. You are enemy.
She won’t stop – she’s a brutal killer. She’ll take your blood and smear it all over the walls, leaving a message for everyone to see. “Bitch,” it will read. As you lay dying, you’ll think about how you didn’t even know that the two of you were enemies.
We cannot pick our enemies, just as we cannot pick our lovers. They fall into our life like the wind. Sometimes on a soft breeze, sometimes on a storm.
They hate you. You hate them. Yet they are you’re drive to become a better you. By competing against your enemies you become stronger. So in a sense, you are helping them and they are helping you.
Time is an enemy, procrastination, wandering, dreaming, leaping, staying still, all possible enemies depending on lack, rush, efficiency, focus, conservancy, hustle. Itʻs not always just about people. Who has time for people enemies when stagnation and frustration are so debilitating.
They are what we fear. What we hate. What we despise. But most of all, they are reminders. Reminders of who we are and what we are and everything about ourselves that we hate and wish we couldn’t be. This is why we have enemies. This is what they are for. Guilt and sadness forever.
Unspoken words between enemies pervaded every atom, their anger consuming the room’s oxygen like a thick smog–toxic, hate filled, potent. The tension pushed through their skin like razor blades, cutting without remorse, breeding the pain that fueled their loathing into new depths. Innocents stepping into the declared zone felt a prickle across their skin sending them into a retreat-and-run for the nearest exit, unsure of what had brushed against their souls but reluctantly aware of the scorching cold left behind through accidental contact. Watching the scene unfold before me like a movie from hell, I suspected that if something born of evil had entered the zone at the same moment it would have reacted equally–if not from fear, then perhaps in reverence and a touch of professional courtesy.
Enemies? I have only one in class. I don’t hate her though. In fact, I love her. Then why is she an enemy? She distracts me way too much.
Combeferre didn’t like to think that he had any enemies, not even in the state. Certainly, the monarchy was an oppressive one, but at the end of the day they were all humans, made of the same flesh and blood. If Combeferre could have his way he would prefer a lengthy discussion to violence, would prefer diplomacy to revolution. But that would require the other side to listen.
There are enemies everywhere. I sit in my room and stare at the door. The splintered wood faces stare back. Outside I can hear them whispering. They are silent but they are shouting. I close my eyes and imagine I am a riffle gunner, picking the enemy off, one by one, one by one.
The enemy of life is death, and the enemy of death is anxiety. I am the enemy anxiety – the conscious boy. The enemy of me is fear and passion. The all-American lonely man, the enemy of the social state, the enemy of the world. The enemy consumes all, and all consume the enemy, and all let go when their hands break.
Enemies. The opposite of friends, the people you enjoy surrounding yourself with. Some formidable, others just pesky and more emotional clutter for you to deal with. They are an essential part of life though, they teach you valuable lessons whether or not you choose to listen to them. It is wise to keep the number in your life to a minimum, the purpose they serve is not worth the weight they carry.
“I have always had enemies,” she said dismissively.
I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. “That’s precisely my point, your majesty. You have many enemies and you’ve had them for a long time which is NEVER a good thing,”
“Why is that?”
“Because it means your enemies have many allies,”
She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “And what do you suggest I do, Captain Swan?”
She smiled. “Why your majesty; I suggest you trust me,”
not needed
brush them off
hurt people
people who don’t know you
judgments
opinions
harsh words
everyone always has someone who dislikes them
Bruce wandered through the saloon, eyeing every man and especially every woman that drank themselves into a stupor surrounding him. He was on to their ruse. He pulled out his watermelon, his weapon of choice, and laid the charge. In five seconds it would all be over. He lit the fuse and dove for the window.
They used to be friends and they fell apart. Amidst the bustling bullshit they called high school, the very core of their being was disintegrating. They no longer could look at each other, let alone pass one another without clicking their teeth.
they were enemies.
big, scary, red enemies
with their hateful glances
and sweet faces.
they were known as lifetime enemies.
Enemies
You love to hate them
Those tricky bastards
Always seem to have another
Trick up their sleeve
Waiting for
the perfect
moment
to
strike
Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer. What makes somebody our enemy? Is it somebody that we don’t agree with morally or emotionally or physically? Is it because we secretly desire to have those same traits? Maybe in a different world, if we weren’t so conservative, we would explore the elements like they do. Maybe it’s actually jealously, and not so much hatred.
Are we enemies? Or are we friends? Sometimes, I can never tell with you.
Many people have enemies and everyone has one at one point in their life, in fact you can have several at once.
I have enemies but sometimes I don’t know what they plan to do to me or if they are even planning to begin with. My sister is one of those enemies but sometimes she can be a frenemy. I dont know how you spell it but thats the way its going to stay. Anyways, she is mean and recently she has brought home a boyfriend she started dating 2 days ago. Really? You should probably get to know each other before introducing him to your family so quickly.
The brighter the light, the darker the shadow. And that’s exactly what they were- deep, deep shadows, eternally menacing and haunting footstep with dusk.
But I walked.
He was my worst energies always tightening his finishes with smug grins oozing of wasted appreciation. I hate it. Enemies sour the best moments:: creating a wave of acidic destruction throughout every interaction as though without force ably involving their putrid existence, the magically destroy everything you have. Their presence on Earth alone is enough to tear and pull at my patience. I wish I couldn’t with them: my enemies. I wish I could somehow mend their hatred and jealousy; turning their sneers into productive conversations. We would conjure jokes and ideas:: we would change the world through our efforts. InsteD, we just avoid each other and grow irritable that occasionally our space is shared.
“Why?” she cried.
As a tear slid down her bruised cheek.
My enemies are all around me…the girl in forum who brushed her hair onto my binder, blonde strands on my physics notebook.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, but sometimes there is comfort in knowing that one person or one group is your enemy and always will be. It’s a constant in life, knowing you’ll always be pitted against them and they will always be pitted against you. It’s a mutual relationship based upon hatred and suspicion and it is something that you never want to change, no matter how difficult things may get or who gets caught in the crossfire.
You can’t live without them although you rather would. You gotta love them, although you don’t. Why are they your enemy? You don’t even know.
John had blocked off the bottom of his door with scrap wood, and still the little furry enemies slipped in, night after night. It was a daily battle. He vacuumed the floor, made sure nothing touched it: no bread crumbs, backpack, clothes, nonslippered feet. And in the morning there would be another dead rats in the trap.
In the mornings he would put his gloves on, holding the trap away from his body, and dispose of it. Mona, who lived next door, who was always up early, would eye him like a stern nun as he passed by. Rats never bothered her. Because she told the mice not to (she insisted on calling them mice), and she never harmed animals, she said, ignoring John’s scientifically-minded protests. “Maybe you were a mouse, or will be on, in another life,” she said, “Have you thought about that?”
Men. Everyone. I can’t do it anymore, all of my relationships with people have taken a toll on me. I will forever be alone and I can’t help it. I know that I am happier this way, but I don’t know why I give in and make myself vulnerable. People always let me down and fuck me over. The only people I will ever trust is my family. I think that I need to transfer and get away. Somewhere. I want to be in the song America by Simon and Garfunkel, then I’ll be lost but free instead of trapped.
Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer. Personally, I don’t believe I have any true enemies. I think the idea is infantile. I believe there are people that dislike me but no one that hates me to their core. Maybe it’s time to be mature.
enemies are bad. they stab u in the back. but they also teach u life long lessons and help u realize things about yourself that you never knew unless you come across your enemies. they know how to push your buttons and make you angry. dont let them.
The word enemy is a really crazy word. I have a lot of enemies. enemies are really bad people, well to you. they will try to torture you.
Two years ago, had you asked me, I could never have fathomed that we would have come so far, and gone so awry, that we could have become enemies when once one.
oops i wrote nothing
You can’t pick your family. But you can pick your enemies . . . right?
I saw her standing over me, brandishing the bloodied knife. When I awoke, however, it was in my own hand and I realized that there wasn’t another person. Myself and I were enemies all along; I splattered my own blood on the walls and floor. I’ll always have the scar to remind myself of that.
I stared them directly in the eyes. “Give it back,” I said firmly.
Emily sneered. “What are you gonna do, tell my mommy?” She looked at me mockingly. That gave me an idea.
“Yes,” I told her.
Emily’s expression changed. “No, don’t!” she cried out.
I ran down the road. “Too late!” I shouted, Emily desperately running after me.
Enemies closer. My enemies are sinking in closer, coming through my pores in the form of sweat and dirt and smoke. My enemies are all around me, inside me. I can’t let them out.
You have to care for someone in order for them to be your enemy, otherwise they’d simply be a stranger on a different path. Discover the hidden emotion there. It could be love, it could be envy, it could be jealousy, but it’s there to find.
I used to love those hands of yours. The way you walked and smiled. Your cute little laugh and how you were so passionate about babies and natural parenting. Now I hate it. I hate all of it. I hate everything you are as a whole. At your center is a religion that you chose over me. A religion that has you deem me a sinful mistake. You are christian. You are enemy.
She won’t stop – she’s a brutal killer. She’ll take your blood and smear it all over the walls, leaving a message for everyone to see. “Bitch,” it will read. As you lay dying, you’ll think about how you didn’t even know that the two of you were enemies.
We cannot pick our enemies, just as we cannot pick our lovers. They fall into our life like the wind. Sometimes on a soft breeze, sometimes on a storm.