These days I wish I could go sleeveless, but I’m sure I’d still find a way to wear my emotions. Maybe I would wear them on my socks, that way I could stomp out the unwanted ones.
And only she knows they’re there
You can only hide them so well,
Each incision you made to drain out the pain
You’ve been wearing sleeves for years
To keep it all out of sight.
But she knows they’re there
And she’s willing to save you.
Just let her.
I don’t have any sleeves on my shirt. I don’t like sleeves. I like tank tops. I don’t really know want to write, but for some reason sleeves made me think of Christmas. I’m trying to think of why it would.
Trying to wear my heart upon my sleeve,
To cross that fine boundary that keeps me
Separated from the mainstream.
But I who until this day have had
No shoulder to carry these arms,
Arms that are not mine,
But seem like a distant tool,
Planted there to hunt my blazing soul.
How can I evade this malady,
And bend the dampness, while
Keeping the prairie in my mind from draining?
And yet you endeavor to reach through the fence,
Not knowing that these sleeves are there
Only to conceal this wretched mortal
From the vicious world.
Cedar clings to Carey’s sleeve, peering around nervously. “It’s okay, Cedar,” Carey tells him. He touches Cedar’s hat and Cedar looks up at him. “I’m scared, Dad.” Carey smiles a little. Cedar is scared of a lot of things, he has a lot of anxieties for a nine year old, and one day Carey hopes he can break him of those, but today he just takes his son’s hand and squeezes.
As he cracked his eyes just a squint and glanced up toward the gun that was pressed against his temple, Jensen could see up the sleeve of the arm that held the pistol. The snake tattoo looked very familiar.
She giggled a bit to herself as he smiled. Her heart beat fast under her shirt and she tried to hide her shaking hands. She purposely bumped into his shoulder and he grinned once more. She wished, for a moment, she could read his mind. She was being too obvious. Always wearing her heart on her sleeve.
Sleeve covered in black paint.
Soaking wet with saline.
Burning, red cheeks, chapped from wind and eye-rain.
I can’t do this again.
I can’t do this again.
Tight but safe, tucked into Master’s sleeve, I peeked into bright candlelight. Shadows were deep and shifting, but quiet, hiding nothing worthy of a hunt.
Trying to wear my heart upon my sleeve,
To cross that fine boundary that keeps me
Separated from the mainstream.
But I who until this day have had
No shoulder to carry these arms,
Arms that are not mine,
But seem like a distant tool,
Planted there to hunt my blazing soul.
How can I evade this malady,
And bend the dampness, while
Keeping the prairie in my mind from draining?
And yet you endeavor to reach through the fence,
Not knowing that these sleeves are there
Only to conceal this wretched mortal
From the vicious world.
“I have something up my sleeve.” I’ve heard that expression so many times without truly grasping what it means. It means you have something hidden; it could be good or bad. The fact that you have “something” up your sleeve implies that you are going to use it soon. A sleeve is a handy place to keep something, after all. You just slide whatever your object is out and into the palm of your hand. To keep something in one’s sleeve implies its necessity. And, possibly, its danger.
shirts have sleeves and so do hot pockets what if a hot pocket wore a shirt like if you took your cutest tank top and put it over your pepperoni hot pocket then it would stay warm even longer sleeves are fun to talk about and to think about because i don’t normally think about sleeves that’s a weird word sleeves sleeves sleeves sleeves SLEEVES my shirt has no sleeves but i wish it did because i am cold and really really really really really high
There’s a sleeve upon my arm. A sleeve that she use to cry on. It holds the grandest of memories, but memories that can tear me apart at the same time. If I look closely I could see the tear stained spot from when I told her I couldn’t carry on anymore. That night, with that sleeve, still hurts me.
Sleeve. In elementary school these were a must for me, because other wise I felt like a whore. Not that I knew what a whore was it’s just I felt so dirty like everyone was staring at my if my shoulders were showing, like i was nasty for wearing such revealing clothes to school.
It overs my shoulders. I remember back in elementary school I had to be wearing clothes with sleeves. I remember if my shoulders were showing i felt like a whore for some reason, not that I knew what a whore was I just felt really dirty, like everyone was staring at me for wearing such revealing clothes.
There’s a sleeve upon my arm. A sleeve that she use to cry on. It holds the grandest of memories, but memories that can tear me apart at the same time. If I look closely I could see the tear stained spot from when I told her I couldn’t carry on anymore. That night, with that sleeve, still hurts me.
a sleeve is a thing on the shirt that you put your arm in. Its made of fabric mostly sometimes wool. there is 2 types of sleeves long sleeves and short sleeves and they are very comfortable.
Most of my sleeves on my hoodies and long-sleeve shirts are stretched to hell because when I get hot I push them up. It sucks because at work it gets super windy outside and so then my arms get cold. Its a lose-lose with me and sleeves.
something that is on a shirt ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i know that …that is wat it is :)
Once I would like to pull a rabbit out of my sleeve,
but being stuck up my sleeve
he might be very peeved,
Thank God while in my sleeve,
his bladder was not relieved…
yeah my sleeves are short so what? so are yours. i wish they were shorter yeah thatd show you all. youd all see my heart for what it really is, not just what it looks like from the outside
I’ve always like going to bars with brass rails and well worn stools. I belly up and shine the bar with my sleeve. I drink a sleeve of beer. Greensleeves plays on the radio.
It’s a kind of timeless place where the rest of the world has never mattered.
Serafina looked down the glistening silver sleeves of her gown, stretching one down over the dark scars of the rune etched there. No one could know about this. Fear extended through every inch of her body, but Serafina didn’t move. Beside her, Samaria pulled down her sleeve as well. The cousins exchanged a glance. Only one of them would survive, thought Serafina, and if this worked, it would be Samaria.
The sleeve was obviously too long. She wasn’t looking good in this jumper. “Nah, it doesn’t suit you, and look at the sleeves.” said Mark, smiling to his beloved girlfriend. “Yeah, you’re right … And it’s not my colour.” she replied sending him a flying kiss.
what the hell am i supposed to write a bout a sleeve.. oh well, i love sleeves with that special kind of soft silky like stuff on the inside. I dont know what its called, maybe fleece? i think thats it. i love fleece. its so soft :3 hmmmm what else to write a sleeve. it kind of looks like sleep, but i dont think sleep and sleeve have anything to do with each other. BUT I LOVE SLEEPING :D
i think its useful to develop a few tricks to be kept up your sleeve. you can pull something out on a rainy day or when you need to gain an upper hand. life on the sly. learn your way around things so that you may slide in and out at will. nothing can touch you when you have down the art of illusion. but its also best to remember that one must be wise and know when to put things back in that sleeve where they belong, when the time is right. makes for quite a dynamic existence, i think. challenging and spontaneous. requiring the insight of oneself and others, as well as the correlation amongst the two. fascinating concepts, really. manipulating of such information. these are the games which i so admire.
I don’t like long sleeve shirts. My mom tries to make me wear long sleeve shirts during the winter. She tells me that if i don’t i will be very cold. I still don’t like to wear them.
These days I wish I could go sleeveless, but I’m sure I’d still find a way to wear my emotions. Maybe I would wear them on my socks, that way I could stomp out the unwanted ones.
Short, long, three-quarter. Sleeves can be all kinds of colors, materials, textures. I prefer short sleeves. Depends on the weather.
And only she knows they’re there
You can only hide them so well,
Each incision you made to drain out the pain
You’ve been wearing sleeves for years
To keep it all out of sight.
But she knows they’re there
And she’s willing to save you.
Just let her.
I don’t have any sleeves on my shirt. I don’t like sleeves. I like tank tops. I don’t really know want to write, but for some reason sleeves made me think of Christmas. I’m trying to think of why it would.
Trying to wear my heart upon my sleeve,
To cross that fine boundary that keeps me
Separated from the mainstream.
But I who until this day have had
No shoulder to carry these arms,
Arms that are not mine,
But seem like a distant tool,
Planted there to hunt my blazing soul.
How can I evade this malady,
And bend the dampness, while
Keeping the prairie in my mind from draining?
And yet you endeavor to reach through the fence,
Not knowing that these sleeves are there
Only to conceal this wretched mortal
From the vicious world.
Cedar clings to Carey’s sleeve, peering around nervously. “It’s okay, Cedar,” Carey tells him. He touches Cedar’s hat and Cedar looks up at him. “I’m scared, Dad.” Carey smiles a little. Cedar is scared of a lot of things, he has a lot of anxieties for a nine year old, and one day Carey hopes he can break him of those, but today he just takes his son’s hand and squeezes.
As he cracked his eyes just a squint and glanced up toward the gun that was pressed against his temple, Jensen could see up the sleeve of the arm that held the pistol. The snake tattoo looked very familiar.
She giggled a bit to herself as he smiled. Her heart beat fast under her shirt and she tried to hide her shaking hands. She purposely bumped into his shoulder and he grinned once more. She wished, for a moment, she could read his mind. She was being too obvious. Always wearing her heart on her sleeve.
Sleeve covered in black paint.
Soaking wet with saline.
Burning, red cheeks, chapped from wind and eye-rain.
I can’t do this again.
I can’t do this again.
Tight but safe, tucked into Master’s sleeve, I peeked into bright candlelight. Shadows were deep and shifting, but quiet, hiding nothing worthy of a hunt.
Trying to wear my heart upon my sleeve,
To cross that fine boundary that keeps me
Separated from the mainstream.
But I who until this day have had
No shoulder to carry these arms,
Arms that are not mine,
But seem like a distant tool,
Planted there to hunt my blazing soul.
How can I evade this malady,
And bend the dampness, while
Keeping the prairie in my mind from draining?
And yet you endeavor to reach through the fence,
Not knowing that these sleeves are there
Only to conceal this wretched mortal
From the vicious world.
“I have something up my sleeve.” I’ve heard that expression so many times without truly grasping what it means. It means you have something hidden; it could be good or bad. The fact that you have “something” up your sleeve implies that you are going to use it soon. A sleeve is a handy place to keep something, after all. You just slide whatever your object is out and into the palm of your hand. To keep something in one’s sleeve implies its necessity. And, possibly, its danger.
shirts have sleeves and so do hot pockets what if a hot pocket wore a shirt like if you took your cutest tank top and put it over your pepperoni hot pocket then it would stay warm even longer sleeves are fun to talk about and to think about because i don’t normally think about sleeves that’s a weird word sleeves sleeves sleeves sleeves SLEEVES my shirt has no sleeves but i wish it did because i am cold and really really really really really high
There’s a sleeve upon my arm. A sleeve that she use to cry on. It holds the grandest of memories, but memories that can tear me apart at the same time. If I look closely I could see the tear stained spot from when I told her I couldn’t carry on anymore. That night, with that sleeve, still hurts me.
Sleeve. In elementary school these were a must for me, because other wise I felt like a whore. Not that I knew what a whore was it’s just I felt so dirty like everyone was staring at my if my shoulders were showing, like i was nasty for wearing such revealing clothes to school.
Sleeves are on shirts. They can be long or short. Some shirts don’t have sleeves.
It overs my shoulders. I remember back in elementary school I had to be wearing clothes with sleeves. I remember if my shoulders were showing i felt like a whore for some reason, not that I knew what a whore was I just felt really dirty, like everyone was staring at me for wearing such revealing clothes.
There’s a sleeve upon my arm. A sleeve that she use to cry on. It holds the grandest of memories, but memories that can tear me apart at the same time. If I look closely I could see the tear stained spot from when I told her I couldn’t carry on anymore. That night, with that sleeve, still hurts me.
a sleeve is a thing on the shirt that you put your arm in. Its made of fabric mostly sometimes wool. there is 2 types of sleeves long sleeves and short sleeves and they are very comfortable.
Most of my sleeves on my hoodies and long-sleeve shirts are stretched to hell because when I get hot I push them up. It sucks because at work it gets super windy outside and so then my arms get cold. Its a lose-lose with me and sleeves.
i ripped it. i tore it off. i’ve removed it from my way, from my life, from my boundaries. i’ve ripped off my sleeve. i’m naked. i’m here.
a sleeve is a part of your jacket or shirt that goes over your arm. I don’t know anything else about it.
something that is on a shirt ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i know that …that is wat it is :)
A sleeve is part of clothing.
something that covers another thing ,a part of an shirt
s
Once I would like to pull a rabbit out of my sleeve,
but being stuck up my sleeve
he might be very peeved,
Thank God while in my sleeve,
his bladder was not relieved…
yeah my sleeves are short so what? so are yours. i wish they were shorter yeah thatd show you all. youd all see my heart for what it really is, not just what it looks like from the outside
Sleeve
Alas, my love, you do me wrong
to cast me off discourteously
And I have loved you oh so long
delighting in your company
Greensleeves was all my joy
and Greensleeves was my delight
Greensleeves was my heart of gold
and who but my Lady Greensleeves
:: must be Christmas music running through my head ::
the shirt had one stain on the sleeve, it looked like blood. He noted it in the exact moment he extended his arm to shake hands with the fellow
I’ve always like going to bars with brass rails and well worn stools. I belly up and shine the bar with my sleeve. I drink a sleeve of beer. Greensleeves plays on the radio.
It’s a kind of timeless place where the rest of the world has never mattered.
I wish this place existed.
Serafina looked down the glistening silver sleeves of her gown, stretching one down over the dark scars of the rune etched there. No one could know about this. Fear extended through every inch of her body, but Serafina didn’t move. Beside her, Samaria pulled down her sleeve as well. The cousins exchanged a glance. Only one of them would survive, thought Serafina, and if this worked, it would be Samaria.
The sleeve was obviously too long. She wasn’t looking good in this jumper. “Nah, it doesn’t suit you, and look at the sleeves.” said Mark, smiling to his beloved girlfriend. “Yeah, you’re right … And it’s not my colour.” she replied sending him a flying kiss.
Sleepy in the sleeve of sleet, she slid silently.
what the hell am i supposed to write a bout a sleeve.. oh well, i love sleeves with that special kind of soft silky like stuff on the inside. I dont know what its called, maybe fleece? i think thats it. i love fleece. its so soft :3 hmmmm what else to write a sleeve. it kind of looks like sleep, but i dont think sleep and sleeve have anything to do with each other. BUT I LOVE SLEEPING :D
i think its useful to develop a few tricks to be kept up your sleeve. you can pull something out on a rainy day or when you need to gain an upper hand. life on the sly. learn your way around things so that you may slide in and out at will. nothing can touch you when you have down the art of illusion. but its also best to remember that one must be wise and know when to put things back in that sleeve where they belong, when the time is right. makes for quite a dynamic existence, i think. challenging and spontaneous. requiring the insight of oneself and others, as well as the correlation amongst the two. fascinating concepts, really. manipulating of such information. these are the games which i so admire.
Sleeve , you have a sleeve on your shirts and jackets accually you have two sleeves.
You have a trick up your sleeve…… Or like a sleeve on a shirt.
I don’t like long sleeve shirts. My mom tries to make me wear long sleeve shirts during the winter. She tells me that if i don’t i will be very cold. I still don’t like to wear them.
I have two sleeves on all my shirts and jackets. If I didn’t, there would be a serious problem. I wouldn’t be very happy.