Why? Why does he always think about himself?
Does he think of love? Of memories? Does he ever think of me? I think of him when it rains, when they smile, I’m sure I will still remember him as I walk quietly down the isle. I love them both. I think I do. I think of him most. Is it too far gone? Nothing is left, I guess. I feel him. I see him everywhere. I know he won’t be there as I stroll through the church. I will wear white and blue. The blue is the easiest. I don’t believe he is really gone. I’m sure he is still waiting for me. Should I forget about him? I will. I will stop searching, stop finding, stop thinking. Let him think of himself.
He never knew himself. He raged before the mirror at the stranger brushing his teeth or the stranger shaving — there was no one in that mirror he recognized.
One night, he put his toothbrush down and looked into the reflection’s eyes.
he isn’t who he wants to be. THis isn’t how he saw himself. he wanted to beat them. They had their time a few years ago. He knew once he was able to escape that he would come out on top. Just give it time. He always thought that. Turns out, the start has been slower than imagined. To be exact, that start hasn’t started.
He hated himself, he was broken. He didn’t know what it was to be loved or to be in love. He was as he was, from the time of birth, never changing, not emotionally. Alone.
He never thought much of himself. He also never wrote in second person. Boy this turned introspective quick. I’ve also run out of things to say. Wait, who? Himself?
love i love him cute sexy, i wish we we were together it sucks that we arent I wish he would like me too I think its really unfair. I wish to be with him every day. Hes cute can dance and awesome . I love himself.
He doesn’t understand himself. That was the understatement of he century, if you ask me. No one really understands themselves. But, him? He was trapped in the four walls that is his head, and has been for 22 years.
He was a man that never had shaved in his life. His beard curled around his toes, snagged in his toenails that were more than 7 inches long. His name was long forgotten, the embroidery rubbed off from his denim employees jacket. How long had he been hiding in this store? After 6 years, time had begun to lose it’s meaning……
Himself. He is not himself. He is the “new an improved” self. He is the one who used to be so focused on being himself. He wanted to be himself. But, he is being the opposite of himself. He couldn’t be farther from himself. It would be nice for him to go back to himself. But no, that just won’t happen…or will it?
If only he could be himself.
I try to be positive, I try to think things can change.
But he has slipped away.
Too far to reach.
Going to far away from me.
If only he could be himself.
Things would be so much better.
Things would be right.
We could be ourselves, together.
If only he could be himself.
He’s himself. He’s perfect. I love everything about him. He can say he thinks he’s strange or weird, but I’ll always love him because of it. He doesn’t try to please anyone. He just does what he wants. He does what feels right. He’s himself, and he’s all mine.
He did not know himself quite as well as he should have, and so he took the path less travelled, thinking he would find his way. The path was not for him however, and he soon was lost. He turned around only to find the path on which he had been walking had disappeared.
He’s always himself. And I love every part about him. He’s my everything. He always says he’s weird or insane, but it’s just that. I love it. He’s entirely himself and I love every little bit of it. He’s him. He’s mine.
The television speakers blared as he sat lazily on the couch typing away at his laptop for no reason. He thought to himself, “I should be starting on homework right now” but can’t seem to get a start on it. So he continues to waste his time and spend his Friday afternoon messing around on his computer and half paying attention to the movie on the television screen.
he was alone. he stood by the window staring at his own reflection. where has the time passed, could this really be who he thought he would become. somewhere along the road he lost himself. now its time to go home.
He walked alone on a winding street. He knew not where he would go, nor what he would do. He knew just one thing that was truer than true. His name was Kyle Stanton, and he would always be himself. No matter what anyone said, no matter what anyone did. He would travel the world as Kyle Stanton, the art history major that likes dogs, the ocean, pasta and almost anything beginning with the letter “b”. The guy who hated overdramatic hypocrites and fish that don’t look like Nemo. “Kyle Stanton is my name.” he said starting in a jog down the road towards the ferry, taking him wherever it may.
He never thought of himself. It was always about other people—every day that he was alive was always about how he could help everyone else. I think that is what made him so wonderful to be around. A down to earth, kind man who gave the warmest hugs whether they were needed that day or not.
I told him I love him. Not loved, love, present tense. It’s been a month, and that doesn’t seem long, but I feel farther from him than ever. We were together for 8 months, but we broke up. Tell self: “He doesn’t care for you, he only cares for himself.”
Note: I would like to point out that I was going to write the above no matter what the word was. Coincidence that it was relatable to my thoughts.
hahahaha himself. I, you, he, she, we… Uhh I dont remember the rest. But I do remember this: I wumbo, you wumbo, he she we wumbo. Wumbology, the study of wumbo! WUMBO. Thats all I got. I am profound.
He kept to himself, almost exclusively. It wasn’t that he was particularly a loner, although others said that about him. It was just that he simply didn’t enjoy the company of others, or at least very many others.
That all changed one day, when he met her.
It was an accidental sort of meeting, yet one that you’d think fate had a hand in.
He checked himself over in the mirror before stepping out. He always did. I guess you could call it a habit. He just wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything hangin’ out of his nose or anything like that.
He looked at himself in the mirror. Again, things were as good as they were gonna get. Mom smoking in her chair at the computer. Dad off to work at 4 a.m. Class all day and work til 9. Maybe he’d see somebody this weekend. but it didn’t look too promising.
he himself. that’s the person that I show them. though my mind’s eye sees something completely different than he. Himself. It’s the basis of my social and career-related existence. But when I’m with Him I have it all. Just myself and himself.
he was a man. just one person who really only did what he wanted to do. sometimes it was something totally immoral and sometimes it just made perfect sense. whatever it was, he didn’t care what people thought about him. he just wanted to make himself known to the world. he was himself and no one could change that!
sitting beneath the waves
there is turmoil above.
he in his body,
the black sky,
the white light,
deft hands smoothing out
stone.
he can hear himself
think,
and can feel himself
falling
down
down
down
He wasn’t himself. Or was he? She didn’t know him all that well. But still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was somewhat distant suddenly. Like he didn’t care, but just didn’t have the heart to tell her. He hadn’t been like this at first, and she wondered, what had changed?
He himself and I. Us together. No others but u and I. Him? He’s lonely. No one to follow and no one to chase.
He couldn’t be himself. He couldn’t be another. He had trouble being. But no trouble moving. Forward. Backwards. Inwards, Mostly.
Why? Why does he always think about himself?
Does he think of love? Of memories? Does he ever think of me? I think of him when it rains, when they smile, I’m sure I will still remember him as I walk quietly down the isle. I love them both. I think I do. I think of him most. Is it too far gone? Nothing is left, I guess. I feel him. I see him everywhere. I know he won’t be there as I stroll through the church. I will wear white and blue. The blue is the easiest. I don’t believe he is really gone. I’m sure he is still waiting for me. Should I forget about him? I will. I will stop searching, stop finding, stop thinking. Let him think of himself.
He never knew himself. He raged before the mirror at the stranger brushing his teeth or the stranger shaving — there was no one in that mirror he recognized.
One night, he put his toothbrush down and looked into the reflection’s eyes.
“State what you want.”
“You,” and the reflection pulled him in.
Look at him, standing there and staring at himself in the frozen-over pond. If his face got any colder he could stare at a tomato.
he isn’t who he wants to be. THis isn’t how he saw himself. he wanted to beat them. They had their time a few years ago. He knew once he was able to escape that he would come out on top. Just give it time. He always thought that. Turns out, the start has been slower than imagined. To be exact, that start hasn’t started.
He hated himself, he was broken. He didn’t know what it was to be loved or to be in love. He was as he was, from the time of birth, never changing, not emotionally. Alone.
Himslef. Herself. Themselves. All words that mean you are thinking of others.
He looks at himself, and as he is, he could fire up the starry stallions of night. But as he lives, he must burn up among the grass.
HE
Himself
He covets himself in idolatry
Self preservation of the ego
Don’t burst his bubble
He roams with a barrier of pretention and arrogance
He doesn’t know why
AHHHH EH AH EH EHAH EH AH
fleet foxes
okay this is turning out to be trash
I bet you don’t think so if you like the Fleet Foxes.
He never thought much of himself. He also never wrote in second person. Boy this turned introspective quick. I’ve also run out of things to say. Wait, who? Himself?
love i love him cute sexy, i wish we we were together it sucks that we arent I wish he would like me too I think its really unfair. I wish to be with him every day. Hes cute can dance and awesome . I love himself.
He doesn’t understand himself. That was the understatement of he century, if you ask me. No one really understands themselves. But, him? He was trapped in the four walls that is his head, and has been for 22 years.
He was a man that never had shaved in his life. His beard curled around his toes, snagged in his toenails that were more than 7 inches long. His name was long forgotten, the embroidery rubbed off from his denim employees jacket. How long had he been hiding in this store? After 6 years, time had begun to lose it’s meaning……
He sat and said to himself, “Why?”
Who is man that he may question the soul?
Who is man that he may answer himself?
No– we are more than this. We are more than that.
Too long have we toiled under the such self-wrought oppression.
We are our mad obsession.
We are us.
We are him.
We are himself.
Sleep now.
Himself. He is not himself. He is the “new an improved” self. He is the one who used to be so focused on being himself. He wanted to be himself. But, he is being the opposite of himself. He couldn’t be farther from himself. It would be nice for him to go back to himself. But no, that just won’t happen…or will it?
If only he could be himself.
I try to be positive, I try to think things can change.
But he has slipped away.
Too far to reach.
Going to far away from me.
If only he could be himself.
Things would be so much better.
Things would be right.
We could be ourselves, together.
If only he could be himself.
He was a tall, rugged, often intimidating man. Dirty, dark, and quiet. Few knew where he came from, fewer still his real name. Only he himself knew .
He’s himself. He’s perfect. I love everything about him. He can say he thinks he’s strange or weird, but I’ll always love him because of it. He doesn’t try to please anyone. He just does what he wants. He does what feels right. He’s himself, and he’s all mine.
He stood by himself, crying with the idea of existence. Existence,the concept by itself, was overwelming.
He did not know himself quite as well as he should have, and so he took the path less travelled, thinking he would find his way. The path was not for him however, and he soon was lost. He turned around only to find the path on which he had been walking had disappeared.
He’s always himself. And I love every part about him. He’s my everything. He always says he’s weird or insane, but it’s just that. I love it. He’s entirely himself and I love every little bit of it. He’s him. He’s mine.
The television speakers blared as he sat lazily on the couch typing away at his laptop for no reason. He thought to himself, “I should be starting on homework right now” but can’t seem to get a start on it. So he continues to waste his time and spend his Friday afternoon messing around on his computer and half paying attention to the movie on the television screen.
he was alone. he stood by the window staring at his own reflection. where has the time passed, could this really be who he thought he would become. somewhere along the road he lost himself. now its time to go home.
He walked alone on a winding street. He knew not where he would go, nor what he would do. He knew just one thing that was truer than true. His name was Kyle Stanton, and he would always be himself. No matter what anyone said, no matter what anyone did. He would travel the world as Kyle Stanton, the art history major that likes dogs, the ocean, pasta and almost anything beginning with the letter “b”. The guy who hated overdramatic hypocrites and fish that don’t look like Nemo. “Kyle Stanton is my name.” he said starting in a jog down the road towards the ferry, taking him wherever it may.
-T
He never thought of himself. It was always about other people—every day that he was alive was always about how he could help everyone else. I think that is what made him so wonderful to be around. A down to earth, kind man who gave the warmest hugs whether they were needed that day or not.
I told him I love him. Not loved, love, present tense. It’s been a month, and that doesn’t seem long, but I feel farther from him than ever. We were together for 8 months, but we broke up. Tell self: “He doesn’t care for you, he only cares for himself.”
Note: I would like to point out that I was going to write the above no matter what the word was. Coincidence that it was relatable to my thoughts.
hahahaha himself. I, you, he, she, we… Uhh I dont remember the rest. But I do remember this: I wumbo, you wumbo, he she we wumbo. Wumbology, the study of wumbo! WUMBO. Thats all I got. I am profound.
He kept to himself, almost exclusively. It wasn’t that he was particularly a loner, although others said that about him. It was just that he simply didn’t enjoy the company of others, or at least very many others.
That all changed one day, when he met her.
It was an accidental sort of meeting, yet one that you’d think fate had a hand in.
He checked himself over in the mirror before stepping out. He always did. I guess you could call it a habit. He just wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything hangin’ out of his nose or anything like that.
It was all he cared about. The rest of the world meant nothing to him. He spent all his time admiring himself in the mirror. He would die this way.
He looked at himself in the mirror. Again, things were as good as they were gonna get. Mom smoking in her chair at the computer. Dad off to work at 4 a.m. Class all day and work til 9. Maybe he’d see somebody this weekend. but it didn’t look too promising.
he himself. that’s the person that I show them. though my mind’s eye sees something completely different than he. Himself. It’s the basis of my social and career-related existence. But when I’m with Him I have it all. Just myself and himself.
When a boy loves himself, you know that he has no time for anyone else.
A dear friend. Handsome, smart, funny, having good taste, making good love, caring for everyone, and always being himself.
He is so proud but so terribly afraid of letting go, of failing and the world seeing. If only he could be brave he would bring so much joy to others
he was a man. just one person who really only did what he wanted to do. sometimes it was something totally immoral and sometimes it just made perfect sense. whatever it was, he didn’t care what people thought about him. he just wanted to make himself known to the world. he was himself and no one could change that!
sitting beneath the waves
there is turmoil above.
he in his body,
the black sky,
the white light,
deft hands smoothing out
stone.
he can hear himself
think,
and can feel himself
falling
down
down
down
He wasn’t himself. Or was he? She didn’t know him all that well. But still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was somewhat distant suddenly. Like he didn’t care, but just didn’t have the heart to tell her. He hadn’t been like this at first, and she wondered, what had changed?
h-hot with furry
i-ignorant
m-macho
s-sadistic
e-envious
l-locked up
f-forgotten