these people live on hinges. swinging one way and then another. they cannot move, they only watch and swing and wait to die
but then again they never have to touch– holding hands, smoothing hair, the weight of heads on shoulders, they don’t know these things and they don’t know what they’re missing
and they never get hurt because they never get closer than across the hallways
they’ve forgotten how to speak, they envy me because
i have arms and legs, i have hips and fingers
i can move– but–
i cannot move i cannot speak because i want to die
i am in so much pain and they do not know what pain is, and so i envy them
they call from across hallways
i sink into floors and melt across tables
i need hinges to keep me from falling apart
i am
swinging back and forth
A door, can never be fully removed from it’s frame.
The hinge keeps it locked there, allowing it only to move a certain extent, without being harmed.
I am tired of being a door, and you my hinge.
Just let me go.
Why can’t I just let go.
hinge. there’s one thing that controls where we end up, it could be one decision, one person, one class, one relationship, whatever. It chooses whether our life swings one way or the other. and it makes me think of open doors. we can choose to shut people out, or leave the door wide open.
The hinge of the gate was rusted and tarnished, the wooden squeedked as it the getle wind blew it back and forht. Although it was a scary sound I found it oddly soothing.
The hinges on the door were rusted. But that was how they had always been. Even since the Hayles had moved into the house, the hinges would scrape and rust would fleck off. It was a wonder how they became that way. Sure the house was very old – it was remodeled, but old still. The hinges had been the only things that had not been changed. For historical value, possibly. Or for aesthetic value.
it all hinges on this. determination or none. doorhinge is the only thing that rhymes with orange, you know? didn’t think it was possible, huh? i don’t think determination is possible. will i make it? go far? do what needs to be done?
I feel like im a door hanging from a single hinge. I feel im about to unhinge. onec this happens i will fall. Will I be able to be ficxed once agaifn? is that even possible. Who can screw m e back in place? (in both senses of the word.)
The hinge is broken.
The door hangs lopsided
Like a shutter of a Haunted House.
I can still hear the slam of the door,
The hysteria of raised voices,
And the shattering of glass.
The hinge is broken,
And you’re not here
To fix it.
The hinge was not attached very well to the door, though it clung to the jamb with a peculiarly strong will. The door hung loose there, waiting for just the right moment to fall all the way off. They’d tried to fix it, but there wasn’t enough real wood left to hold it. So they treated it gingerly, as they did the topic of Granddad’s drinking.
I hate it.
Always saying this and that.
Telling me what to do with my life.
Oh…I have a life alright.
I can desribe it using one word…
Music…
Music will always be part of my life,
Or I could say, is my
Life
It all hinges on this moment. It’s a clear choice, a chance and it’s up to whether or not Sean has the balls to take it. He can be afraid but in that fear it can drive him to leap. He can go for what he wants despite the variables. He got into music for that very same reason. Ryan should be no different.
There was a hinge on the gate that squeaked whenever someone walked through it, and it sent shivers down her spine like ice. So many bad memories, how many times had that gate opened and then she’d been hurt?
The old house was beautiful in it’s own dilapidated fashion. The front door was barely hanging on by it’s hinges, and strips of paint chipped across the front revealing the worn, splintering oak underneath. The floor boards creak with each step taken inside, and any light managing to stream through the windows was filtered with dust.
I’m breaking, falling apart. Coming unhinged like an old door falling off it’s frame. That’s me, unable to take anymore. I’m losing my mind, slipping away.
you’re looking at me like i’ve lost my mind, mouth wide but not holding a grin as usual. you don’t seem to understand do you? not that i expected you to considering that’s exactly why this conversation is taking place, because you don’t get me and i most certainly don’t get you. i want this to be best for us for it to turn out right once the door slams behind you but i’m not sure it will. i’m secretly hoping that after i finish spewing my words at you like a child who breathes too heavily while she chews that you’ll say “wait a second, don’t you dare i care about you and all those things i said were real. all those thoughts i through into your heart well i meant to i meant to make you fall for me and i fell for you.” but even after that i feel like i may not believe you. i mean i want to but how can i? you’ve been there for me, but not HERE for me.
A hinge holds something together. What’s holding me together? What’s my hinge? What keeps me from falling apart when I hear something I can’t bear or look in the mirror and hate what I see? To be honest…I have no idea. I can’t imagine anything could be that strong.
these people live on hinges. swinging one way and then another. they cannot move, they only watch and swing and wait to die
but then again they never have to touch– holding hands, smoothing hair, the weight of heads on shoulders, they don’t know these things and they don’t know what they’re missing
and they never get hurt because they never get closer than across the hallways
they’ve forgotten how to speak, they envy me because
i have arms and legs, i have hips and fingers
i can move– but–
i cannot move i cannot speak because i want to die
i am in so much pain and they do not know what pain is, and so i envy them
they call from across hallways
i sink into floors and melt across tables
i need hinges to keep me from falling apart
i am
swinging back and forth
By Seneca S. URL on 01.24.2012
A door, can never be fully removed from it’s frame.
The hinge keeps it locked there, allowing it only to move a certain extent, without being harmed.
I am tired of being a door, and you my hinge.
Just let me go.
Why can’t I just let go.
By Madeleine Silvers on 01.24.2012
hinge. there’s one thing that controls where we end up, it could be one decision, one person, one class, one relationship, whatever. It chooses whether our life swings one way or the other. and it makes me think of open doors. we can choose to shut people out, or leave the door wide open.
By J on 01.24.2012
it’s in everywhere. i don’t know what to say, but a like the gold ones. ok, seems fine for me.
By Nanduinha URL on 01.24.2012
The hinge of the gate was rusted and tarnished, the wooden squeedked as it the getle wind blew it back and forht. Although it was a scary sound I found it oddly soothing.
By Yvonne Smith on 01.24.2012
The hinges on the door were rusted. But that was how they had always been. Even since the Hayles had moved into the house, the hinges would scrape and rust would fleck off. It was a wonder how they became that way. Sure the house was very old – it was remodeled, but old still. The hinges had been the only things that had not been changed. For historical value, possibly. Or for aesthetic value.
By Rebecca URL on 01.24.2012
it all hinges on this. determination or none. doorhinge is the only thing that rhymes with orange, you know? didn’t think it was possible, huh? i don’t think determination is possible. will i make it? go far? do what needs to be done?
that takes willpower. don’t know if i have that.
By MJ on 01.24.2012
I feel like im a door hanging from a single hinge. I feel im about to unhinge. onec this happens i will fall. Will I be able to be ficxed once agaifn? is that even possible. Who can screw m e back in place? (in both senses of the word.)
By Jaxz URL on 01.24.2012
The hinge is broken.
The door hangs lopsided
Like a shutter of a Haunted House.
I can still hear the slam of the door,
The hysteria of raised voices,
And the shattering of glass.
The hinge is broken,
And you’re not here
To fix it.
By Ladywolfrider URL on 01.24.2012
The hinge was not attached very well to the door, though it clung to the jamb with a peculiarly strong will. The door hung loose there, waiting for just the right moment to fall all the way off. They’d tried to fix it, but there wasn’t enough real wood left to hold it. So they treated it gingerly, as they did the topic of Granddad’s drinking.
By Kathleen Gabriel URL on 01.24.2012
My Life Only
By: Christine M. S.
I hate it.
Always saying this and that.
Telling me what to do with my life.
Oh…I have a life alright.
I can desribe it using one word…
Music…
Music will always be part of my life,
Or I could say, is my
Life
By christine on 01.24.2012
It all hinges on this moment. It’s a clear choice, a chance and it’s up to whether or not Sean has the balls to take it. He can be afraid but in that fear it can drive him to leap. He can go for what he wants despite the variables. He got into music for that very same reason. Ryan should be no different.
By Cassie URL on 01.24.2012
There was a hinge on the gate that squeaked whenever someone walked through it, and it sent shivers down her spine like ice. So many bad memories, how many times had that gate opened and then she’d been hurt?
By Ciara Evans URL on 01.24.2012
The old house was beautiful in it’s own dilapidated fashion. The front door was barely hanging on by it’s hinges, and strips of paint chipped across the front revealing the worn, splintering oak underneath. The floor boards creak with each step taken inside, and any light managing to stream through the windows was filtered with dust.
By Kaylyn URL on 01.24.2012
hinge connected to
door,
room,
house,
town,
neighbor,
city,
country,
Earth
By Christine URL on 01.24.2012
hanging by the last
of unoiled remains,
of rusted inquiries
and dust-ridden brains,
thoughts lay petrified.
By kalena URL on 01.24.2012
I’m breaking, falling apart. Coming unhinged like an old door falling off it’s frame. That’s me, unable to take anymore. I’m losing my mind, slipping away.
By Alex on 01.24.2012
you’re looking at me like i’ve lost my mind, mouth wide but not holding a grin as usual. you don’t seem to understand do you? not that i expected you to considering that’s exactly why this conversation is taking place, because you don’t get me and i most certainly don’t get you. i want this to be best for us for it to turn out right once the door slams behind you but i’m not sure it will. i’m secretly hoping that after i finish spewing my words at you like a child who breathes too heavily while she chews that you’ll say “wait a second, don’t you dare i care about you and all those things i said were real. all those thoughts i through into your heart well i meant to i meant to make you fall for me and i fell for you.” but even after that i feel like i may not believe you. i mean i want to but how can i? you’ve been there for me, but not HERE for me.
By C. Ritchie URL on 01.24.2012
A hinge holds something together. What’s holding me together? What’s my hinge? What keeps me from falling apart when I hear something I can’t bear or look in the mirror and hate what I see? To be honest…I have no idea. I can’t imagine anything could be that strong.
By Courtney on 01.25.2012