i sat on the bench. letting the wind whip my hair and clothes. i let the cold take over me. waiting for my bus to take me home. i usually don’t take the bus but my car was in the shop today. my friend, paul, was fixing it by himself. i have known paul since middle school. but we have never tried being more than friends. i would like to keep it that way. my car hasn’t been working properly so i decide to have him fix it. i work at an office and i had a long day today i can’t wait to get home and heat up some homeade mac and cheese that i made a couple days ago. but now i am waiting in the cold for a bus that doesn’t come for another 10 minutes. i sit here and wait.
He let himself go. He used to be such a good boy, till his parents broke up and daddy got remarried. Now he’s a scumbag. He smokes and dropped out of school today. I loved him when we were kids and he’s really smart, you give him a test and he’ll ace it. Amazing, but now its going to go to waste because he does drugs. He really let himself go, tho his brother is still a good boy and in school.
All by himself, he sat there…crying. He never cried, but he thought that it was an appropriate time to do so then. He appeared to be a strong, brave young man, when really he had all of the feelings everyone else may have had if they were all alone in the world. They were all gone.
He only thought about himself. All the time. Everytime. Always. Always thinking about himself and how important he was and how he always got what he wanted. Nevertheless, I can’t blame him. I was always thinking about him too. I love him.
himself, who is himself. I don’t know. I don’t know who myself is, how am I supposed to know who he is? Is he by himself? Probably if he’s like me, yeah. But I mean that’s okay. It’s okay to be by yourself. By himself. It doesn’t really matter, it isn’t a bad thing. At least, I don’t think so. If he wants, I’ll leave him to himself. If not, that’s okay too.
And he did not know himself as well as he should have, so he took the path less travelled and found that he could not walk that way. Turning around he found the path had disappeared.
He didn’t know himself quite as well as he’d like to think. He didn’t recognize the patterns and unjust actions he repeated over and over until she would point them out. She never let him get away with his crimes. He was a walking history of repetition. He was never changing, even though he needed to.
What is it about him, that tempers my minds yet excites me wildly? There is something about that which exudes from his very skin .. i can describe it only as himself .. oozzing out and speaking to every part of me.
To be himself is a lie. He is always happy to other people, he is always fake. I used to love him but never could I trust him. I thought perhaps he was my friend until I saw that he is everyone’s friend and I was one just one more person who thought he was cool.
He talked to himself outloud
as he walked past the waiting patrons,
heads tilted over to the left,
waiting for the bus to take them
and me, he walked past me
And spoke as if he were telling me
mysteries of the world.
I couldn’t help but listen, and it turned my head
Away from the fixed stares.
I blinked twice. How did I get here?
He loved himself, he was a narcissist and he was incredibly self absorbed- in the end that was his downfall.
Truly, the mirror didn’t look enchanted, or maybe it did, he didn’t notice all he saw was himself.
he asked himself, “Is this what I wanted my life to become?” He looked down at his blood-covered hands, to the man on the bed, and back to his hands again. “What now?”
as a tomboy, my personality split by indecision,
i kick leaves and wait for snow to fall on wet tongues
as a woman, as a man, as myself, himself, herself
He found himself alone with himself, contemplating his thoughts, his self, his being. Lost in himself, he could see no way out of the narcissism and self-obsessive web he had been caught in. In this world, his self was the only thing in existence, and the rest of the world were but projections of his ego.
a concept internally or externally created and is that measured by herself or only the other way around. if i am measure by him i want to be a yard stick as well i will set the standard
he knows himself. his is a decent man, and always friendley. Yet he doesn’t know how special he is. He is more than just a normal guy. He loves the world and he shows it. That makes him a happy person.
All he could think of was himself.
Blinking, bright in the rain, he, himself
That’s all he could think of
Citizens of the street
Hunger and disillusion
Yet he could only think of himself
He rarely thought of himself, at least, not with anything resembling fondness. His spine was twisted and tormented by the sharp turns he took for others, but when it came to himself, even a simple doctor’s appointment was too much to ask.
he thinks as himself as i king i the mountain lookiing down and seeing that he is not alone in his longings. But what i found most significant is that he is in fact
How did he feel about himself?
That was the key to how he dealt with others.
When he was feeling good, he could take on any challenge.
But when the demons came at night, he could hardly face the day.
My challenge was getting him to trust himself.
He saw himself in the mirror and then looked away. He was disgusted with himself for not asking the girl out in time. Now he will never know if he had a chance.
It was all for him. Himself. He didn’t ever care about me. Or her, or his friends. It was just him against the world, and nobody could get him out of his little self absorbed bubble. No one could help him out of the dark place he found himself in. And that was his downfall.
he wanted himself he touched himself he thought about killing himself but could not bring himself to do it, he loved himself too much and could not bear to see himself go. there was no one he loved or hated more, there was nothing he could stand less and nothing he had more desperate desire for but himself.
He tried to be himself, but he didn’t know how. His whole life spent in search of identity… Amongst such inspirational characters; he found nothing to lead him to a real perception of his self. It is a sad life he lives. One in which I empathize with.
There wasn’t a lot he didn’t like. He was strong, capable, more than ready and willing to fight for what he believed in. It was the “what he believed in” part that was confusing. Because, honestly, sometimes he didn’t know. Sometimes the haziness of morality played with his mind, and he didn’t know which side to pick. As long as he got the job done, no one seemed to care. And if no one else cared, why should he?
Sometimes he wanted to ask himself questions, but this always proved troublesome. How can one ask themself a question when every day a different person answers back? It was really a hideous dilemma, which often left him bumbling about, directionless, having never consulted with himself about where exactly it was he was going.
i sat on the bench. letting the wind whip my hair and clothes. i let the cold take over me. waiting for my bus to take me home. i usually don’t take the bus but my car was in the shop today. my friend, paul, was fixing it by himself. i have known paul since middle school. but we have never tried being more than friends. i would like to keep it that way. my car hasn’t been working properly so i decide to have him fix it. i work at an office and i had a long day today i can’t wait to get home and heat up some homeade mac and cheese that i made a couple days ago. but now i am waiting in the cold for a bus that doesn’t come for another 10 minutes. i sit here and wait.
He let himself go. He used to be such a good boy, till his parents broke up and daddy got remarried. Now he’s a scumbag. He smokes and dropped out of school today. I loved him when we were kids and he’s really smart, you give him a test and he’ll ace it. Amazing, but now its going to go to waste because he does drugs. He really let himself go, tho his brother is still a good boy and in school.
All by himself, he sat there…crying. He never cried, but he thought that it was an appropriate time to do so then. He appeared to be a strong, brave young man, when really he had all of the feelings everyone else may have had if they were all alone in the world. They were all gone.
He only thought about himself. All the time. Everytime. Always. Always thinking about himself and how important he was and how he always got what he wanted. Nevertheless, I can’t blame him. I was always thinking about him too. I love him.
himself, who is himself. I don’t know. I don’t know who myself is, how am I supposed to know who he is? Is he by himself? Probably if he’s like me, yeah. But I mean that’s okay. It’s okay to be by yourself. By himself. It doesn’t really matter, it isn’t a bad thing. At least, I don’t think so. If he wants, I’ll leave him to himself. If not, that’s okay too.
And he did not know himself as well as he should have, so he took the path less travelled and found that he could not walk that way. Turning around he found the path had disappeared.
He didn’t know himself quite as well as he’d like to think. He didn’t recognize the patterns and unjust actions he repeated over and over until she would point them out. She never let him get away with his crimes. He was a walking history of repetition. He was never changing, even though he needed to.
What is it about him, that tempers my minds yet excites me wildly? There is something about that which exudes from his very skin .. i can describe it only as himself .. oozzing out and speaking to every part of me.
To be himself is a lie. He is always happy to other people, he is always fake. I used to love him but never could I trust him. I thought perhaps he was my friend until I saw that he is everyone’s friend and I was one just one more person who thought he was cool.
He talked to himself outloud
as he walked past the waiting patrons,
heads tilted over to the left,
waiting for the bus to take them
and me, he walked past me
And spoke as if he were telling me
mysteries of the world.
I couldn’t help but listen, and it turned my head
Away from the fixed stares.
I blinked twice. How did I get here?
He loved himself, he was a narcissist and he was incredibly self absorbed- in the end that was his downfall.
Truly, the mirror didn’t look enchanted, or maybe it did, he didn’t notice all he saw was himself.
he asked himself, “Is this what I wanted my life to become?” He looked down at his blood-covered hands, to the man on the bed, and back to his hands again. “What now?”
as a tomboy, my personality split by indecision,
i kick leaves and wait for snow to fall on wet tongues
as a woman, as a man, as myself, himself, herself
God Himself loves you. Yes, you. He created you to enjoy His love and love Him back. He is our Creator, our Provider. God Himself.
He found himself alone with himself, contemplating his thoughts, his self, his being. Lost in himself, he could see no way out of the narcissism and self-obsessive web he had been caught in. In this world, his self was the only thing in existence, and the rest of the world were but projections of his ego.
He took everything for himself, the best. It had to be the best. Liquor, money, drugs, women, fast cars and firearms.
What she saw in him, she could never figure out.
The freedom of selfishness, she supposed.
That selfishness had cost them both, but he could never see.
man selfish messy loved strong gassy lucky immature passionate love willing scared tall handsome smile happy confused
a concept internally or externally created and is that measured by herself or only the other way around. if i am measure by him i want to be a yard stick as well i will set the standard
he knows himself. his is a decent man, and always friendley. Yet he doesn’t know how special he is. He is more than just a normal guy. He loves the world and he shows it. That makes him a happy person.
he thought that he, himself could take on the world. he did’nt know that she was the reason he had gotten this far. without her he was nothing.
All he could think of was himself.
Blinking, bright in the rain, he, himself
That’s all he could think of
Citizens of the street
Hunger and disillusion
Yet he could only think of himself
He rarely thought of himself, at least, not with anything resembling fondness. His spine was twisted and tormented by the sharp turns he took for others, but when it came to himself, even a simple doctor’s appointment was too much to ask.
Sometimes when a guy don’t like himself and they don’t try to get attention but when a guy doesn’t like himself he does try to get attention.
his personality was hidden behind his mask of hatred. He himself hated every one.
Who is he? We strive all our lives to get know ourselves, but how do we know when we have found them? Who are we?
he has been lieing to himself
He found himself yesterday. He had had a bad day. Very bad life indeed. Until he found himself. Happy Birthday Charlie.
When a guy doesn’t like himself he simply tries to do anything h possibly can to bring attention upon himself. Its quit annoying.
IT WAS JUST HIMSELF INSIDE OF THE BUILDING.
He told his Mother about his love life himself over the never ending summer of lasting fun.
he thinks as himself as i king i the mountain lookiing down and seeing that he is not alone in his longings. But what i found most significant is that he is in fact
How did he feel about himself?
That was the key to how he dealt with others.
When he was feeling good, he could take on any challenge.
But when the demons came at night, he could hardly face the day.
My challenge was getting him to trust himself.
He saw himself in the mirror and then looked away. He was disgusted with himself for not asking the girl out in time. Now he will never know if he had a chance.
It was all for him. Himself. He didn’t ever care about me. Or her, or his friends. It was just him against the world, and nobody could get him out of his little self absorbed bubble. No one could help him out of the dark place he found himself in. And that was his downfall.
he wanted himself he touched himself he thought about killing himself but could not bring himself to do it, he loved himself too much and could not bear to see himself go. there was no one he loved or hated more, there was nothing he could stand less and nothing he had more desperate desire for but himself.
He tried to be himself, but he didn’t know how. His whole life spent in search of identity… Amongst such inspirational characters; he found nothing to lead him to a real perception of his self. It is a sad life he lives. One in which I empathize with.
he is tall,
his hands are cold
he stares a lot and laughs loud
he is rough
he knows what he’s talking about
and he takes care of himself
There wasn’t a lot he didn’t like. He was strong, capable, more than ready and willing to fight for what he believed in. It was the “what he believed in” part that was confusing. Because, honestly, sometimes he didn’t know. Sometimes the haziness of morality played with his mind, and he didn’t know which side to pick. As long as he got the job done, no one seemed to care. And if no one else cared, why should he?
Sometimes he wanted to ask himself questions, but this always proved troublesome. How can one ask themself a question when every day a different person answers back? It was really a hideous dilemma, which often left him bumbling about, directionless, having never consulted with himself about where exactly it was he was going.
He is so full of himself
He is the only person who is mean to me
Yet I stay with him.
And he is the only one I chose.