What is real anymore? It surely isn’t those so-called tans. Or that bleach blonde hair. It surely is not her plastic… limbs. And it definitely isn’t her friendly demeanor.
It had to be real. There wasn’t an alternative. I stood at the station looking at the small ring, more of a promise ring realyl. But that wasn’t the point. I thought of what my mother said, what everyone else said. I’d been so sure they were wrong. Completely wrong about what he said, what he was thinking. Because I knew what he was thinking. He loved me and it was real. I told this to myself as I stood all day alone at the station, waiting. It had been real. It had to be.
i had a dissociative episode while drunk off my ass on vodka. needless to say, i didn’t feel very real at that moment. i was outside of my body, and my body spoke and answered for me while i laid back on a seat and let the car steer itself.
She wasn’t real to me. She wasn’t even real to herself. All she did was twist around stories that weren’t true and make us, all of us, feel she was so much more than she is. Than she will ever be.
that’s something which is true, but sometimes, what is real for someone isn’t for someone else. Also, It mights be real only in your head, then you do think it is, but in fact is not.
I smiled, “This can’t be real!” Dayton laughed and kissed me on the nose.
“Believe it baby, that ring on your finger means you really are mine, ’til death do us part.” His arm around my waist pulled me tighter and we moved gracefully to the music, my white dress sweeping the ground. The moment was perfect, but our parting was sooner than either of us could have expected.
What is real and what isn’t? Sometimes the line between reality and dreams becomes so blurred in my every day life. I recall moments, snippets of exchanges with certain people, but when I recount them, I can’t seem to pinpoint where it happened. And then it occurs to me…it may have been in a dream. But was it in a dream? Was it? Was it real? I think I need sleeping pills.
This was real. The fact scared me, that this was real. I wasn’t dreaming, I wasn’t watching a movie, I wasn’t immersed in a book. This was my life, and I would have to face the dangers and fears in front of me head on. They were no longer figments of my imagination, I couldn’t banish them easily.
To know what is real and true for me, for my life, for my thoughts, actions, and plans… To know what is real and true for my world, for my heart, for my soul. To know what is real and true… is to feel what is real and true. It is not a knowing like any other. This knowing, this awareness, is always certain. Do not be fooled by your brain. It looks out for you, yes, your best interests in mind… But who is to say what is best for you? Your brain or your heart? Are your best interests even your interests at all? Whose are they? Ponder on that, in your little house, with your little family, with your little routine and your job that you despise… Everyday much like the others. I might want that one day. To live in the “real” world. Today though, I choose differently, because I know that my best life is waiting piece by piece down a different path. A path called adventure. It is time to collect these moments.
Being real is a funny concept because we are socialized to totally not be real, to follow society’s norms rather than our feelings, to follow rules rather than urges, to toe the line and do what’s expected rather that going with what feels real for us.
right now is real
it is everything that is
never mind what
can be
will be
and has ever been
there is no way to see
that those did ever be
but
right now is real
reality is what we think, what we interpret to be real, everything that we do not yet know is still real, but we don’t comprehend it to be so. life is basically a matter of perspective, reality itself changes and comes to life.
He stares outside the window and sees her in her usual white dress and pony tailed hair..She’s very pretty and lovely as always. And then later, she’ll disappear. It’s just illusion. He needs to go back to reality. But he can’t. Later he’ll wait for her and see her again. That’s his life away from the real world. And no one can change it.
Shattered shards of sanity scattered across a white-washed tiled floor. Categorized. Euthanized. Lobotomized. Of course it’s all in your head. But how does that make it any less real?
What’s Real? Upon seeing today’s word, all I could think was “I don’t know what’s real.” Growing up, so many things I once thought to be genuine and real turned out to be as disposable as the Sunday paper. So you ask me what’s “real?” Give me a few years and I’ll give you the answer.
What is real, an opinion or a fact? Something I would say has a different meaning to every individual. Some think that it means one thing to everybody, but they are incorrect. Different to everyone. To one real, but to another fake. Open for interpretation.
real?
are you kidding me? what on earth is real about this awful phenomena that is the internet. yet i become a hypocrite in writing this. people have begun to accept the internet as this twisted reality where anything apart from doing things is acceptable.
the one thing in the world we want to forget. the one thing we always remember. Tearing us back to the world, holding us down for awhile. You can be struggling for air, or finally taking it all in. Those moments you hold onto forever, the ones you let go of. The seconds it takes to come back to life. Everything in your world,and outside of it. holding it, touching it,seeing it having it right before your eyes. It is all too real.
Life is transitory. Who knows what is actually real and what isn’t. Beyond the dimensional boundaries of time and space there could be something that makes time seem trivial. What is time really?
the moment was real for a split second. the smile was real for split second. the thoughts were real for a split second. the innocence was real for a split second. it was all real, until she broke down in front of the world. letting the REAL out. the tears were real, the lies were real, but the existence was no longer real.
What is real, when you really think about it? Who knows what is reality and what is perceived as it? When you really think about it, who knows what we are? Who knows what is in the darkest corners of the universe… or what is outside of it? Who is to say we’re not just one atom on a blade or grass in an empty field.
I felt it. I felt it rip in my hands as I clutched it tightly to my chest. I felt it tear apart, rip not in two, but into a million irreparable pieces. It was too late to try to push it back together. The force that rent it was too great to hold back. That was it, it was finished; over.
It’s not that I can’t see it
I know it’s there
Well, it’s not.
You don’t see me like you used to.
Or maybe you never really did.
I understand that.
I get it.
We just aren’t meant to be.
You’ll never love me like I love you.
Yeah, it hurts sometimes to realize I’ll never be with you.
But hey, it’s fine.
I’ll survive.
Because this right here is real.
the world is not a real place. it consists of people pretending and wishing to be what society defines them to be. people try too hard to conform to societal definitions. i dont want to fall in this category. i try hard to live for me, for the real in me, and no one else. however, by doing so, i think i’ve actually fallen into another socially defined category.
What is it, and what is it for? The real. Reality itself. It’s like saying because of life you do something in your every day life. Reality is a guesswork quilt laid gently under pillows stuffed with life’s meaning.
Real distortion of reality was what was apparent to little John Jim. Ward in a hospital where he should rightly be, he cares with fervent empathy. He pities his patients and cries the night after putting a jacket on a patient desiring to be free from her mind. He despises the staff and spites them at every chance. He breaks the law, he masturbates, he procrastinates, he squanders and then he blames. He is real, are you then, insane?
Bunches of green clovers,
smiling in my small hands.
Fields of grass blowing in the wind,
beckoning tiny feet to weave their winding tracks.
My eyes roam an endless blue sky,
and sunshine,
warming my face and my mind,
wipes away all illusions of society.
When I think about being “real”, I think about honesty. I would rather have someone be straight up and maybe hurt my feelings than talk smack about me behind my back. I have never gone for guys who lie or try to tell me things that they THINK I want to hear. I would rather have a guy admit he’s a loser and then try to find out what makes him a real “gem” than date someone who brags about himself and isn’t worth dip.
Real does not exist. Whether or not you want it to or not. To explain, it is not that I believe nothing exists, it just exists differently for everybody. Not even colors are the same in the eyes of another. Sometimes I wish I could really see through someone else’s eyes into their view, it would open up the world in ways I could never imagine…
Nothing seems real during the grieving process. For me, it’s a constant feeling of distraction, the one you get when you have to finish that essay at 2:00 am, but some force is making you zone out, and your fingers just hover over the keyboard, numb.
The touch, the emotion, the connection. Real is the spark that connects you to the being, the warmth of the hug as you embrace a child, the buzz that runs from your brain down your spine as you see the smile of a girl you’ve always dreamed of becoming….reality.
Remember when there used to be real life
and then make-believe. Well now, there is no boundary
between our lives every day and fantasy.
Chalk this up to our constant obsession with being wired in
to technology and reality tv shows.
What is real anymore? It surely isn’t those so-called tans. Or that bleach blonde hair. It surely is not her plastic… limbs. And it definitely isn’t her friendly demeanor.
It had to be real. There wasn’t an alternative. I stood at the station looking at the small ring, more of a promise ring realyl. But that wasn’t the point. I thought of what my mother said, what everyone else said. I’d been so sure they were wrong. Completely wrong about what he said, what he was thinking. Because I knew what he was thinking. He loved me and it was real. I told this to myself as I stood all day alone at the station, waiting. It had been real. It had to be.
i had a dissociative episode while drunk off my ass on vodka. needless to say, i didn’t feel very real at that moment. i was outside of my body, and my body spoke and answered for me while i laid back on a seat and let the car steer itself.
She wasn’t real to me. She wasn’t even real to herself. All she did was twist around stories that weren’t true and make us, all of us, feel she was so much more than she is. Than she will ever be.
that’s something which is true, but sometimes, what is real for someone isn’t for someone else. Also, It mights be real only in your head, then you do think it is, but in fact is not.
i don’t know whats real anymore. life’s becoming a blur
I smiled, “This can’t be real!” Dayton laughed and kissed me on the nose.
“Believe it baby, that ring on your finger means you really are mine, ’til death do us part.” His arm around my waist pulled me tighter and we moved gracefully to the music, my white dress sweeping the ground. The moment was perfect, but our parting was sooner than either of us could have expected.
What is real and what isn’t? Sometimes the line between reality and dreams becomes so blurred in my every day life. I recall moments, snippets of exchanges with certain people, but when I recount them, I can’t seem to pinpoint where it happened. And then it occurs to me…it may have been in a dream. But was it in a dream? Was it? Was it real? I think I need sleeping pills.
English exams scare me.
They are too sweet and too innocent,
Pretending to be open-armed and open-minded.
But English exams are not like Math exams.
There isn’t an equation or a simple answer.
You can write your real and honest opinion.
But if your real and honest opinion is wrong,
Then you fail.
I am afraid to fail.
This was real. The fact scared me, that this was real. I wasn’t dreaming, I wasn’t watching a movie, I wasn’t immersed in a book. This was my life, and I would have to face the dangers and fears in front of me head on. They were no longer figments of my imagination, I couldn’t banish them easily.
To know what is real and true for me, for my life, for my thoughts, actions, and plans… To know what is real and true for my world, for my heart, for my soul. To know what is real and true… is to feel what is real and true. It is not a knowing like any other. This knowing, this awareness, is always certain. Do not be fooled by your brain. It looks out for you, yes, your best interests in mind… But who is to say what is best for you? Your brain or your heart? Are your best interests even your interests at all? Whose are they? Ponder on that, in your little house, with your little family, with your little routine and your job that you despise… Everyday much like the others. I might want that one day. To live in the “real” world. Today though, I choose differently, because I know that my best life is waiting piece by piece down a different path. A path called adventure. It is time to collect these moments.
Being real is a funny concept because we are socialized to totally not be real, to follow society’s norms rather than our feelings, to follow rules rather than urges, to toe the line and do what’s expected rather that going with what feels real for us.
right now is real
it is everything that is
never mind what
can be
will be
and has ever been
there is no way to see
that those did ever be
but
right now is real
reality is what we think, what we interpret to be real, everything that we do not yet know is still real, but we don’t comprehend it to be so. life is basically a matter of perspective, reality itself changes and comes to life.
He stares outside the window and sees her in her usual white dress and pony tailed hair..She’s very pretty and lovely as always. And then later, she’ll disappear. It’s just illusion. He needs to go back to reality. But he can’t. Later he’ll wait for her and see her again. That’s his life away from the real world. And no one can change it.
reality
compared to what
is it happening
or running through my mind
I’ve lived a life
half blocked by dreams
foggy and spinning away from me
Shattered shards of sanity scattered across a white-washed tiled floor. Categorized. Euthanized. Lobotomized. Of course it’s all in your head. But how does that make it any less real?
Real people aren’t people who your feelings real people are nice and generous.
What’s Real? Upon seeing today’s word, all I could think was “I don’t know what’s real.” Growing up, so many things I once thought to be genuine and real turned out to be as disposable as the Sunday paper. So you ask me what’s “real?” Give me a few years and I’ll give you the answer.
What is real, an opinion or a fact? Something I would say has a different meaning to every individual. Some think that it means one thing to everybody, but they are incorrect. Different to everyone. To one real, but to another fake. Open for interpretation.
‘Real recognizes real’ is what they like to say. I’m still figuring it out.
real?
are you kidding me? what on earth is real about this awful phenomena that is the internet. yet i become a hypocrite in writing this. people have begun to accept the internet as this twisted reality where anything apart from doing things is acceptable.
the one thing in the world we want to forget. the one thing we always remember. Tearing us back to the world, holding us down for awhile. You can be struggling for air, or finally taking it all in. Those moments you hold onto forever, the ones you let go of. The seconds it takes to come back to life. Everything in your world,and outside of it. holding it, touching it,seeing it having it right before your eyes. It is all too real.
Life is transitory. Who knows what is actually real and what isn’t. Beyond the dimensional boundaries of time and space there could be something that makes time seem trivial. What is time really?
why does everything have to be real. I wish tests and regents were not real. I wish they didn’t affect your life if failed.
the moment was real for a split second. the smile was real for split second. the thoughts were real for a split second. the innocence was real for a split second. it was all real, until she broke down in front of the world. letting the REAL out. the tears were real, the lies were real, but the existence was no longer real.
What is real, when you really think about it? Who knows what is reality and what is perceived as it? When you really think about it, who knows what we are? Who knows what is in the darkest corners of the universe… or what is outside of it? Who is to say we’re not just one atom on a blade or grass in an empty field.
I felt it. I felt it rip in my hands as I clutched it tightly to my chest. I felt it tear apart, rip not in two, but into a million irreparable pieces. It was too late to try to push it back together. The force that rent it was too great to hold back. That was it, it was finished; over.
It’s not that I can’t see it
I know it’s there
Well, it’s not.
You don’t see me like you used to.
Or maybe you never really did.
I understand that.
I get it.
We just aren’t meant to be.
You’ll never love me like I love you.
Yeah, it hurts sometimes to realize I’ll never be with you.
But hey, it’s fine.
I’ll survive.
Because this right here is real.
the world is not a real place. it consists of people pretending and wishing to be what society defines them to be. people try too hard to conform to societal definitions. i dont want to fall in this category. i try hard to live for me, for the real in me, and no one else. however, by doing so, i think i’ve actually fallen into another socially defined category.
What is it, and what is it for? The real. Reality itself. It’s like saying because of life you do something in your every day life. Reality is a guesswork quilt laid gently under pillows stuffed with life’s meaning.
real is something that could happen in reall life if it isn’t real that it is realistic fiction then that is the word real and that’s what it means.
Real distortion of reality was what was apparent to little John Jim. Ward in a hospital where he should rightly be, he cares with fervent empathy. He pities his patients and cries the night after putting a jacket on a patient desiring to be free from her mind. He despises the staff and spites them at every chance. He breaks the law, he masturbates, he procrastinates, he squanders and then he blames. He is real, are you then, insane?
Bunches of green clovers,
smiling in my small hands.
Fields of grass blowing in the wind,
beckoning tiny feet to weave their winding tracks.
My eyes roam an endless blue sky,
and sunshine,
warming my face and my mind,
wipes away all illusions of society.
When I think about being “real”, I think about honesty. I would rather have someone be straight up and maybe hurt my feelings than talk smack about me behind my back. I have never gone for guys who lie or try to tell me things that they THINK I want to hear. I would rather have a guy admit he’s a loser and then try to find out what makes him a real “gem” than date someone who brags about himself and isn’t worth dip.
Real does not exist. Whether or not you want it to or not. To explain, it is not that I believe nothing exists, it just exists differently for everybody. Not even colors are the same in the eyes of another. Sometimes I wish I could really see through someone else’s eyes into their view, it would open up the world in ways I could never imagine…
Nothing seems real during the grieving process. For me, it’s a constant feeling of distraction, the one you get when you have to finish that essay at 2:00 am, but some force is making you zone out, and your fingers just hover over the keyboard, numb.
The touch, the emotion, the connection. Real is the spark that connects you to the being, the warmth of the hug as you embrace a child, the buzz that runs from your brain down your spine as you see the smile of a girl you’ve always dreamed of becoming….reality.
Remember when there used to be real life
and then make-believe. Well now, there is no boundary
between our lives every day and fantasy.
Chalk this up to our constant obsession with being wired in
to technology and reality tv shows.
‘Game over’ the screen taunted him. ‘It’s over…you’ve lost your lives…back to reality and your humdrum world’.