Everywhere I go I see people quite similar to me. Watching, waiting, and hoping. People who are confused and frightened from their past. Never quite knowing how others will react. People who have never came out of their shells until a trusting hand was held outward to them. The misunderstood shy folk have a differn’t story. Reasons to be unsure.
Shells are found on the back of many creatures, providing them with protection from predators, a sense of security, and in many cases, a portable home. I often wish that I had a shell of my own. Because, how could you not? I mean, fuck. Turtles. Such badass motherfuckers. Ain’t nobody got shit on a turtle. Yeah.
The sea shells felt cool and hard on her feet.She walked slowly and carefully, making sure to leave some of her footprints behind. She’d always been a hopeless romantic, hoping for love to come.
They were shells of the women they used to be,
Having decided to embrace the pant suit as completely,
And abandoned all signs of feminity.
Which is fine,
Who cares, right?
but in doing so they also lost all their care,
Their grace,
Their mothering sense of compassion,
And soon all was lost.
There was a carton of egg shells sitting on the shelf. Come to think of it, who in their right mind puts the egg shells back into the carton? Wouldn’t that get messy? Would you put them back into the fridge? What kind of sick person came up with this saying? I think they should be punished. I wish I had a time machine to go back and find that sick person.
shells come in all sizes and shapes. I always loved shells. I remember when I was child and was taken to the beach with my mother, she used to collect them and keep them in a glass case at home. I miss those days. Now, there are no more trips to the beach but only memories.
I love the little shells I find at the beach along the coast of Lake Huron. Not the zebra mussel shells that tend to cut the feet of the unwary, but the tiny spiral shells that belong to some creature I don’t know the name of. I love them for that very reason, and because they are tiny and perfect and colored in dusty shades of blue and purple.
shells ocean wind breeze hard soft rounded time aged old new discover scared water salt love story conch lord of the flies time wasted resting sitting hold back holding in
Reminds me of the oceans. Used in jeweallary. Ive heard that if we put a shell to our ears, we can hear the ocean. They look very pretty and fresh. USed in temples to make a sound. decorative item.
I strolled down the rocky beach with the breaking tide hitting my bare toes. As I contemplated the reasoning for his disappearance a sharp pain hit me. A burning, raging fire hit my lower back and surged through my body. To distract myself from the pain, my mind jumped from thought to though, creating a jumbled mess with only a few cohesive thoughts. Darkle, my childhood dog. Sam, Sam, blond Sam. All of the shells on the bed, what were they for?
they are aweseome. those little tiny sea shells in which they hold pearls and life, but when human have shells it becomes really complicated and frustrating…it’s good as long as they dont come on humans, sparkling.
Everybody has a shell. Everyone hides under one. Humanity is a big sea of shells.So, why should it matter? Why do I keep listening to society? Why do I punish myself this way?
lots of them all over, came from the stars, and are actually made of metal. If you listne really carefully you can sometimes hear the heart beat of the distant ocean from thge inside of that caldium deposite, specially formed by some tiny living creature. Either now or millions of years ago now clinging to a wall face or deep underground changing its chemical make up/.
She sells seashells…
Shells are empty vessels which become home to delicate creatures
I can hear my thoughts in the largest shells
Shells decorate the seaside with treasure
They were almost unrecognizable; only shells of their former selves remained…
She stood on t the beach collecting seashells not the broken ones, but instead the perfect old ones left behind by their old inhabitants, on the shore.
I’m walking along the beach collecting sea shells. I see all kinds of shapes and sizes. I stop to listen to the waves and I notice the sun glistening off the waves. My feet sink into the sand and I feel a calmness come over me.
The beach called to Sammy. The sound of waves was like a siren summoning her home. She walked among the kids and seashells with equal respect. Nature in all forms – human and not – inspired her.
i lived in one once where the water lapped it up on me sun drills behind the wet sea that was all there was. total reality. and now the thing crumbles under each breath the universe was the right way it came down on me like this and there was nothing else to do but let it come and that was the most beautiful thing like snow on the salt flats of any other planet
sea shells, salty air, fish, fresh, vacation memories happiness, warm sunshine and sunburns, sand between my toes in a cool morning air where the water is still cold lashing against my ankles, collecting the goodies washing in from the night befores storm and collecting them in a little bucket.
If she sold seashells by the seashore, then that would mean she was taking natural relics of the sacred beach, and that would anger the gods something terrible. Those deities got miffed pretty easily if any fragment of land they deemed “theirs” was used for profit, so as far as I’m concerned, that juvenile shell vendor may get into deep trouble.
But what do I know? I’m just overanalyzing a tongue twister so I can waste time in speech therapy.
They were a mass coming out of their shells. Blind and naive hermits who were seeing the world for the first time. It amazed them and gave them a sense of self doubt and fear.
She felt like picking up the shells from the sandy depths of the ocean, but knew that she couldn’t for each shell represented a different prophecy and she could not bare to understand the future.
A tiny, delicate shell, nestled in the sand, caught his eye — allowing him, if only briefly, to forget about the artillery shells which were falling all around him.
we play out like a trumpet, along the beach, muggy, with our hair sticking to our foreheads like tassels and press our ears to the conches, listening for answers but only hearing the blood in our own ears. I do not like to write as a ‘we’ anymore, but I do not believe in individualism. I am in a weird place.
When I was younger, I used to collect shells. I thought they were the coolest things ever. Beautiful, little masterpieces formed only by the ocean. I’ve been to the ocean once in my life and I was extremely disappointed to not find any. I hope one day I have a child as interested in something as I once was in shells.
Shells rained down, shrieking like an army of banshees. Christian hunkered down in the trench, arms covering his neck, and cursed Angel for talking him into this madness. In fact, everything ever in his life was basically Angel’s fault, he’d decided.
The shells hit, exploded. Dirt rained down. Men screamed.
And then the mustard gas.
Christian fumbled for his mask. He didn’t really need it, would sacrifice it to a comrade if necessary, but then his secret would be out. He wasn’t human.
over your lovely breasts shape the hands of the ocean, Thetys has lend you her delicate fingers to cover what needn’t be covered but protecting that hide of magnolia instead. so swim with me, finned vixen, show off your iridescent tail, and i shall be taunted by each scale individually
The shore left me wanting more ocean and so I grabbed the first ship I could find away from the docks. I left behind all I held dear and everyone I knew. The ship struck ground on a remote island and I was one of the few survivors. I live here now. It’s been twenty years. I collect shells from the shore and they take up and entire room in my hut. I miss my home.
sea shells are gorgeous. I used to love collecting them when I went to the river with my grandpa. I would always have a blast id sit there and search through the shallow water for sea shells and cool looking rocks. by the end of the day i would always have a big bag of shells and rocks but i would always forget them on my grandpas boat. he would always keep them for me or give them to my aunt for me.
I walked silently along the beach, watching the waves come to shore and dash back away again. I glanced over at the hand in mine, she carried a fistful of shells, her grin brighter than the setting sun next to us. What a day.
Are from the ocean. They are the former homes of crustations at the bottom of the sea. someone may cut their foot, or pick one up for memories. they protect a modest life form and can fall from the eyes of someone that looks a little closer.
Neon colored shells littered across a glittering beach of ebony sand, the water, beautiful and clear as cut emeralds, rushing up to meet it’s darkened banks. From where we stood, I could just catch sight of the treeline, cerulean leaves sparkling in the red-soaked haze of the sun.
“It’s strange for you, isn’t it?” she asked, gesturing vaguely towards the landscape.
“No,” I began, my voice filled with awe. “It’s beautiful.”
Everywhere I go I see people quite similar to me. Watching, waiting, and hoping. People who are confused and frightened from their past. Never quite knowing how others will react. People who have never came out of their shells until a trusting hand was held outward to them. The misunderstood shy folk have a differn’t story. Reasons to be unsure.
Shells are found on the back of many creatures, providing them with protection from predators, a sense of security, and in many cases, a portable home. I often wish that I had a shell of my own. Because, how could you not? I mean, fuck. Turtles. Such badass motherfuckers. Ain’t nobody got shit on a turtle. Yeah.
The sea shells felt cool and hard on her feet.She walked slowly and carefully, making sure to leave some of her footprints behind. She’d always been a hopeless romantic, hoping for love to come.
Shells are really sad things. Like abandoned coffins. Their beauty is misunderstood I think.
They were shells of the women they used to be,
Having decided to embrace the pant suit as completely,
And abandoned all signs of feminity.
Which is fine,
Who cares, right?
but in doing so they also lost all their care,
Their grace,
Their mothering sense of compassion,
And soon all was lost.
There was a carton of egg shells sitting on the shelf. Come to think of it, who in their right mind puts the egg shells back into the carton? Wouldn’t that get messy? Would you put them back into the fridge? What kind of sick person came up with this saying? I think they should be punished. I wish I had a time machine to go back and find that sick person.
shells come in all sizes and shapes. I always loved shells. I remember when I was child and was taken to the beach with my mother, she used to collect them and keep them in a glass case at home. I miss those days. Now, there are no more trips to the beach but only memories.
I love the little shells I find at the beach along the coast of Lake Huron. Not the zebra mussel shells that tend to cut the feet of the unwary, but the tiny spiral shells that belong to some creature I don’t know the name of. I love them for that very reason, and because they are tiny and perfect and colored in dusty shades of blue and purple.
shells ocean wind breeze hard soft rounded time aged old new discover scared water salt love story conch lord of the flies time wasted resting sitting hold back holding in
Reminds me of the oceans. Used in jeweallary. Ive heard that if we put a shell to our ears, we can hear the ocean. They look very pretty and fresh. USed in temples to make a sound. decorative item.
I strolled down the rocky beach with the breaking tide hitting my bare toes. As I contemplated the reasoning for his disappearance a sharp pain hit me. A burning, raging fire hit my lower back and surged through my body. To distract myself from the pain, my mind jumped from thought to though, creating a jumbled mess with only a few cohesive thoughts. Darkle, my childhood dog. Sam, Sam, blond Sam. All of the shells on the bed, what were they for?
they are aweseome. those little tiny sea shells in which they hold pearls and life, but when human have shells it becomes really complicated and frustrating…it’s good as long as they dont come on humans, sparkling.
Everybody has a shell. Everyone hides under one. Humanity is a big sea of shells.So, why should it matter? Why do I keep listening to society? Why do I punish myself this way?
lots of them all over, came from the stars, and are actually made of metal. If you listne really carefully you can sometimes hear the heart beat of the distant ocean from thge inside of that caldium deposite, specially formed by some tiny living creature. Either now or millions of years ago now clinging to a wall face or deep underground changing its chemical make up/.
She sells seashells…
Shells are empty vessels which become home to delicate creatures
I can hear my thoughts in the largest shells
Shells decorate the seaside with treasure
They were almost unrecognizable; only shells of their former selves remained…
She stood on t the beach collecting seashells not the broken ones, but instead the perfect old ones left behind by their old inhabitants, on the shore.
I’m walking along the beach collecting sea shells. I see all kinds of shapes and sizes. I stop to listen to the waves and I notice the sun glistening off the waves. My feet sink into the sand and I feel a calmness come over me.
The beach called to Sammy. The sound of waves was like a siren summoning her home. She walked among the kids and seashells with equal respect. Nature in all forms – human and not – inspired her.
i lived in one once where the water lapped it up on me sun drills behind the wet sea that was all there was. total reality. and now the thing crumbles under each breath the universe was the right way it came down on me like this and there was nothing else to do but let it come and that was the most beautiful thing like snow on the salt flats of any other planet
sea shells, salty air, fish, fresh, vacation memories happiness, warm sunshine and sunburns, sand between my toes in a cool morning air where the water is still cold lashing against my ankles, collecting the goodies washing in from the night befores storm and collecting them in a little bucket.
Am I just a shell of who I used to be?
If she sold seashells by the seashore, then that would mean she was taking natural relics of the sacred beach, and that would anger the gods something terrible. Those deities got miffed pretty easily if any fragment of land they deemed “theirs” was used for profit, so as far as I’m concerned, that juvenile shell vendor may get into deep trouble.
But what do I know? I’m just overanalyzing a tongue twister so I can waste time in speech therapy.
They were a mass coming out of their shells. Blind and naive hermits who were seeing the world for the first time. It amazed them and gave them a sense of self doubt and fear.
She felt like picking up the shells from the sandy depths of the ocean, but knew that she couldn’t for each shell represented a different prophecy and she could not bare to understand the future.
A tiny, delicate shell, nestled in the sand, caught his eye — allowing him, if only briefly, to forget about the artillery shells which were falling all around him.
we play out like a trumpet, along the beach, muggy, with our hair sticking to our foreheads like tassels and press our ears to the conches, listening for answers but only hearing the blood in our own ears. I do not like to write as a ‘we’ anymore, but I do not believe in individualism. I am in a weird place.
Little rainbow curls resting in the sand, more beautiful than stones, more delicate than glass.
Shells are what I find at the beach. They are beautiful.
She sells sea shells at the sea shore… the rhyme sounds as it is. But the truth is more than an economy class :)
When I was younger, I used to collect shells. I thought they were the coolest things ever. Beautiful, little masterpieces formed only by the ocean. I’ve been to the ocean once in my life and I was extremely disappointed to not find any. I hope one day I have a child as interested in something as I once was in shells.
She tiptoed over to the her growing pile. Surely one of them would fit her.
Shells rained down, shrieking like an army of banshees. Christian hunkered down in the trench, arms covering his neck, and cursed Angel for talking him into this madness. In fact, everything ever in his life was basically Angel’s fault, he’d decided.
The shells hit, exploded. Dirt rained down. Men screamed.
And then the mustard gas.
Christian fumbled for his mask. He didn’t really need it, would sacrifice it to a comrade if necessary, but then his secret would be out. He wasn’t human.
over your lovely breasts shape the hands of the ocean, Thetys has lend you her delicate fingers to cover what needn’t be covered but protecting that hide of magnolia instead. so swim with me, finned vixen, show off your iridescent tail, and i shall be taunted by each scale individually
The seashore is where you will see themost shells you know sea shells by the seshore. Also people are shells of their former selves-lose weithg
The shore left me wanting more ocean and so I grabbed the first ship I could find away from the docks. I left behind all I held dear and everyone I knew. The ship struck ground on a remote island and I was one of the few survivors. I live here now. It’s been twenty years. I collect shells from the shore and they take up and entire room in my hut. I miss my home.
sea shells are gorgeous. I used to love collecting them when I went to the river with my grandpa. I would always have a blast id sit there and search through the shallow water for sea shells and cool looking rocks. by the end of the day i would always have a big bag of shells and rocks but i would always forget them on my grandpas boat. he would always keep them for me or give them to my aunt for me.
You think shells protect you, but they don’t. They hurt you and make you suffer. Maybe not immediatly, but later. Throw them away!
I walked silently along the beach, watching the waves come to shore and dash back away again. I glanced over at the hand in mine, she carried a fistful of shells, her grin brighter than the setting sun next to us. What a day.
Are from the ocean. They are the former homes of crustations at the bottom of the sea. someone may cut their foot, or pick one up for memories. they protect a modest life form and can fall from the eyes of someone that looks a little closer.
Neon colored shells littered across a glittering beach of ebony sand, the water, beautiful and clear as cut emeralds, rushing up to meet it’s darkened banks. From where we stood, I could just catch sight of the treeline, cerulean leaves sparkling in the red-soaked haze of the sun.
“It’s strange for you, isn’t it?” she asked, gesturing vaguely towards the landscape.
“No,” I began, my voice filled with awe. “It’s beautiful.”