The smudge on the purple banana was not being very nice. Yes the smudge was alive. It was moving around on top of the banana, teasing it, making it kind of angry. But then suddenly BAM an asteroid hit everything and suddenly a little orb of goodness formed itself and decided to create cool stuff, and interact with the stuff that was already there.
IN the morning, I woke up and there was a smudge of poo on my face. I was extremely disgusted at first, and wiped it off. Then I wondered as to how it got there, and then I kind of felt sick. Then I wanted to do something relaxing like bathe in icecream. I thought that would be a good idea.
He wiped a smudge from the windshield of the Jeep. It wasn’t mud, though he had been known to say the late corporal had mud for brains. “Fucking snipers,” he said, spitting near one of the corporal’s fingers.
A smudge on a white dress is a concern on any given day, but on a wedding day it is far more prevalent. It can go from cause for concern to cause for major anxiety, and can plague the minds of otherwise happy females.
She brushed the hair from her face as she spoke, unknowingly leaving a blackened smear of grease across the alabastrine swatch of skin.
Normally the lack of hygiene in the gesture would have made her cultured heart seize in her chest and yet, because it was HER face and HER smudge, it seemed nothing short of or more than endearing.
“Cauthrien, are you listening to me?”
She blinked and raised her eyes, promptly losing herself in lipid pools the color of quicksilver. “I’m sorry, darling,” she said honestly. “I seem to have drifted off for a moment,”
I smudged a frank giraffe with some ketchup then I took a duce on this guys face with some mayo in my butt which made him wonder why I was existing. Oh yeah smudge? Sorry. I’m here. Where’s the attitude? Why do you have an attitude? I smudge your attitude out with a marker, then do the write thing. I mean the right thing. Right brained. Boom socks. Socks are good for your feet, because they keep them warm.
Another smudge, and he wanted to make the love letter so neat. So special. Even bought one of those fountain pens. His hand tensed as he concentrated. Glancing at a swirling font on the computer screen he looked down. ‘I love you’ he wrote. Followed by another smudge.
Is a smudge really a smudge? I don’t think so, a smudge may be considered a smudge but isn’t it more a work of art? The definition of the word gives a negative connatation to it however at the same time it is only the connatation that makes it mean anything. IN reality the perception of the image or word is what makes the word what it is.
smudge the house when you move in. get the bad spirits away. is that a smudge on your face? lets take a shower and get cleaned up. it’ll be a fun night, just you and i
“Oh goddamnit,” Evaril sighed as she looked at the plain white canvas, and she leaned back in her chair, twirling around her paintbrush as she examined that which was before her. After a moment, though, she just shrugged and began to paint around the blemish on her canvas. ‘After all, what else can be done?’ she asked herself. ‘Life goes on, even if it didn’t seem to… Just roll with the punches, Eve. That’s what’ll guarantee your success.’
I stared at the smudge my fingers had left on the train window. Fingers that were saying goodbye to the best friend I ever had. His teeth were so white, smiling at me, waving me off to a new land two thousand miles away.
My teeth were hidden behind a frown that desperately tried to wave off tears. Because I cared so much for him, and I knew it just wasn’t the same on the other side of the tracks.
Her makeup made her look like a ghoul, but that was ok. She was still beautiful to me. We held hands, and I pretended not to notice her smudged, blackened eyes. It was bliss.
Smudge was a man who lived near the docks in Liverpool. Melon headed, flabby, mustachioed businessman, kind guy but not too keen on the works of the world. Always smoking a cigar. Never once married, but lots of women nonetheless. Glasses. Big.
smudge. i am sleepy so this is probably not going to walk. there are smudges everywhere infact when I worked at fashion week smudges were extremely important. i walked on runway…in runway? we had to make sure the runway had no smudges. if there were we had to clean them
I looked in the mirror, the reflection was sad, dark, and distant. I could’t tell if the smudge I saw on my face was actually on me or on the mirror. After the night I’d had, I didn’t really care.
When I think about the word ‘smudge’ I think about all those mornings I woke up at 7am to get ready for college with yesterday’s eyeliner on but spread around my cheeks and forehead
Gross stuff come streaming down my mind’s river, what’s happening, it’s sickening how fast i’m floatingto the edge, it’sa cascade…beautiful and innocent, dragging me to it, filled with desire to embrace a living being.
I really hate when I’m taking down notes in lectures and my pen goes scribblescribble running across furiously fearlessly with a purpose raging to the next line, lines of text text beautiful handwritten info-bombs–
and then BOOM SMUDGE an ugly scar on the face of eternity
i smudged his watercolor painting one day, because it was too perfect. that’s the reason i gave, anyway, but i guess it wasn’t that. i guess i was just sick of him always focusing so much attention on that painting but never to me. i would sing as loudly as possible to his moody indie music but it wouldn’t do any good. he had found his passion, and i was yet to find mine.
it’s there if you only look with open eyes
instead of closing them to emotion
a faint smudge upon my cheek
a delicate reminder
of the past’s lingering pain
and more recent hurts
There was a smudge on your face, and my hand moved up to wipe it from your face with the damp cloth before I had realized it had moved. Your eyes held mine as I gently wiped the mark from your cheek. Amazing how a simple action can feel incredibly intimate when you are looking into someone’s eyes. I thought I could hear your heartbeat with the air frozen in suspense between us. I had never touched you in person before. You smiled and I slowly moved my hand away. You reached up, taking my hand by my fingers and pulling it toward your mouth. You kissed the back of my hand so softly, I wasn’t sure I had actually felt your lips. The heat from where you kissed me was unmistakable; the flames stoking inside me, undeniable.
Beauty. She’s covered the birthmark on her face so many times in her life, hiding, always hiding. Trembling, she hears the taunts of her peers.
“Smudge”
“Looks like the mark of the devil”
“Dirty”
Somethings cannot be erased.
so today i dont have the patience to write about anything remotely relatd to that word and then again, i will because that is what is on my mind. a tiny smudge, something off, a blemish some place it doesn’t actually belong. if there are people who deviate from the norm (and i am not talking about myself), what do they do when they first find out? how agonising must it be, when they first notice that their minds are not clear by the standards of those who are in the majority and who can corner them
The dark spots covered his vision. Laughter filled his ears and he was soaking wet.
“Johnny! Come back here!”
Smiles all around.
“Why don’t you join us?”
Being dirty doesn’t make me straight.
“It’s FREEZING!”
A warm kiss on his cheek.
Playing in the rain wasn’t bad after all.
I tried as hard as i could not to smudge the ink as i carried the manuscript across the room to the drying shelves. I’d been a novice for only nine days and i’d screwed up something on all of them. Thank goodness God forgives.
After writing her name on the paper, her hand smudged the ink, and that’s how she felt. A smudged inkblot at the top of a piece of paper. It both thrilled and terrified her. After staring at the blotch for too long, she crumple the piece of paper up and started again. She didn’t want to be a smudge.
like an ink blot, smudge my life away with your lies, i dont care if it ruins your sleeves because you have ruined me. i called a guinea pig smudge once, it died LIKE MY SOUL DID WHEN YOU SMUDGED ME OFF YOUR LIST
Their names were Smudge and Pebbles and they were bunnies. It was all very exciting with adventures and fun. One day they went on two adventures, then three adventures, then four. Soon enough their adventures were going on adventures of their own. In the end there were altogether too many adventures. Smudge and Pebbles ran out of pocket money and couldn’t afford any sweets to put in their adventure rucksacks and they ran out of space to do less adventurous things like drinking from their clickity ball-bearing bottles.
So maybe we’ll just get Pebbles hey, and leave Smudge here in the shop.
The world became blurry, literally, as I walked away and tears fell from my eyes. Run, I thought. Run. Run, run, run, run, run. And as I ran hard and ran fast under the rain all I could think of was my smudged mascara.
smudge is something being tampered with. something messy. An object in which appears to be artistic in nature because of how it was not suppose to be there but appears to be there merely by accident. it is a indent of something that was used with color or shade, that upon forced into a pavement or canvas gave it its beauty.
Smudge? Smudge.
The smudge on the purple banana was not being very nice. Yes the smudge was alive. It was moving around on top of the banana, teasing it, making it kind of angry. But then suddenly BAM an asteroid hit everything and suddenly a little orb of goodness formed itself and decided to create cool stuff, and interact with the stuff that was already there.
IN the morning, I woke up and there was a smudge of poo on my face. I was extremely disgusted at first, and wiped it off. Then I wondered as to how it got there, and then I kind of felt sick. Then I wanted to do something relaxing like bathe in icecream. I thought that would be a good idea.
He wiped a smudge from the windshield of the Jeep. It wasn’t mud, though he had been known to say the late corporal had mud for brains. “Fucking snipers,” he said, spitting near one of the corporal’s fingers.
A smudge on a white dress is a concern on any given day, but on a wedding day it is far more prevalent. It can go from cause for concern to cause for major anxiety, and can plague the minds of otherwise happy females.
She brushed the hair from her face as she spoke, unknowingly leaving a blackened smear of grease across the alabastrine swatch of skin.
Normally the lack of hygiene in the gesture would have made her cultured heart seize in her chest and yet, because it was HER face and HER smudge, it seemed nothing short of or more than endearing.
“Cauthrien, are you listening to me?”
She blinked and raised her eyes, promptly losing herself in lipid pools the color of quicksilver. “I’m sorry, darling,” she said honestly. “I seem to have drifted off for a moment,”
I smudged a frank giraffe with some ketchup then I took a duce on this guys face with some mayo in my butt which made him wonder why I was existing. Oh yeah smudge? Sorry. I’m here. Where’s the attitude? Why do you have an attitude? I smudge your attitude out with a marker, then do the write thing. I mean the right thing. Right brained. Boom socks. Socks are good for your feet, because they keep them warm.
Another smudge, and he wanted to make the love letter so neat. So special. Even bought one of those fountain pens. His hand tensed as he concentrated. Glancing at a swirling font on the computer screen he looked down. ‘I love you’ he wrote. Followed by another smudge.
Is a smudge really a smudge? I don’t think so, a smudge may be considered a smudge but isn’t it more a work of art? The definition of the word gives a negative connatation to it however at the same time it is only the connatation that makes it mean anything. IN reality the perception of the image or word is what makes the word what it is.
Don’t smudge some feelings that I have for you.
Because they’re so clear
so that you can see
smudge the house when you move in. get the bad spirits away. is that a smudge on your face? lets take a shower and get cleaned up. it’ll be a fun night, just you and i
Stain, washer, dirty, smelly, gross, soda and pizza with pizza sauce.
A smudge on her canvas of life.
“Oh goddamnit,” Evaril sighed as she looked at the plain white canvas, and she leaned back in her chair, twirling around her paintbrush as she examined that which was before her. After a moment, though, she just shrugged and began to paint around the blemish on her canvas. ‘After all, what else can be done?’ she asked herself. ‘Life goes on, even if it didn’t seem to… Just roll with the punches, Eve. That’s what’ll guarantee your success.’
I stared at the smudge my fingers had left on the train window. Fingers that were saying goodbye to the best friend I ever had. His teeth were so white, smiling at me, waving me off to a new land two thousand miles away.
My teeth were hidden behind a frown that desperately tried to wave off tears. Because I cared so much for him, and I knew it just wasn’t the same on the other side of the tracks.
Her makeup made her look like a ghoul, but that was ok. She was still beautiful to me. We held hands, and I pretended not to notice her smudged, blackened eyes. It was bliss.
Smudge was a man who lived near the docks in Liverpool. Melon headed, flabby, mustachioed businessman, kind guy but not too keen on the works of the world. Always smoking a cigar. Never once married, but lots of women nonetheless. Glasses. Big.
smudge. i am sleepy so this is probably not going to walk. there are smudges everywhere infact when I worked at fashion week smudges were extremely important. i walked on runway…in runway? we had to make sure the runway had no smudges. if there were we had to clean them
I looked in the mirror, the reflection was sad, dark, and distant. I could’t tell if the smudge I saw on my face was actually on me or on the mirror. After the night I’d had, I didn’t really care.
When I think about the word ‘smudge’ I think about all those mornings I woke up at 7am to get ready for college with yesterday’s eyeliner on but spread around my cheeks and forehead
the smudge in your eye
should brighten up
all you need
is to look up and see the sun
(sometimes the obvious things are just straight next to you)
Gross stuff come streaming down my mind’s river, what’s happening, it’s sickening how fast i’m floatingto the edge, it’sa cascade…beautiful and innocent, dragging me to it, filled with desire to embrace a living being.
I really hate when I’m taking down notes in lectures and my pen goes scribblescribble running across furiously fearlessly with a purpose raging to the next line, lines of text text beautiful handwritten info-bombs–
and then BOOM SMUDGE an ugly scar on the face of eternity
i smudged his watercolor painting one day, because it was too perfect. that’s the reason i gave, anyway, but i guess it wasn’t that. i guess i was just sick of him always focusing so much attention on that painting but never to me. i would sing as loudly as possible to his moody indie music but it wouldn’t do any good. he had found his passion, and i was yet to find mine.
it’s there if you only look with open eyes
instead of closing them to emotion
a faint smudge upon my cheek
a delicate reminder
of the past’s lingering pain
and more recent hurts
There was a smudge on your face, and my hand moved up to wipe it from your face with the damp cloth before I had realized it had moved. Your eyes held mine as I gently wiped the mark from your cheek. Amazing how a simple action can feel incredibly intimate when you are looking into someone’s eyes. I thought I could hear your heartbeat with the air frozen in suspense between us. I had never touched you in person before. You smiled and I slowly moved my hand away. You reached up, taking my hand by my fingers and pulling it toward your mouth. You kissed the back of my hand so softly, I wasn’t sure I had actually felt your lips. The heat from where you kissed me was unmistakable; the flames stoking inside me, undeniable.
stain
clothes
food
drinks
cleaning products
Beauty. She’s covered the birthmark on her face so many times in her life, hiding, always hiding. Trembling, she hears the taunts of her peers.
“Smudge”
“Looks like the mark of the devil”
“Dirty”
Somethings cannot be erased.
so today i dont have the patience to write about anything remotely relatd to that word and then again, i will because that is what is on my mind. a tiny smudge, something off, a blemish some place it doesn’t actually belong. if there are people who deviate from the norm (and i am not talking about myself), what do they do when they first find out? how agonising must it be, when they first notice that their minds are not clear by the standards of those who are in the majority and who can corner them
The dark spots covered his vision. Laughter filled his ears and he was soaking wet.
“Johnny! Come back here!”
Smiles all around.
“Why don’t you join us?”
Being dirty doesn’t make me straight.
“It’s FREEZING!”
A warm kiss on his cheek.
Playing in the rain wasn’t bad after all.
I tried as hard as i could not to smudge the ink as i carried the manuscript across the room to the drying shelves. I’d been a novice for only nine days and i’d screwed up something on all of them. Thank goodness God forgives.
I ran back to his house. I couldn’t stand the guilt. But it was too late. I silently stood and watched the blood smudge across the room.
I smudge my makeup sometimes. I don’t like when people kiss me on the cheek, or when it rains or is foggy. All of these things make my makeup rub off.
After writing her name on the paper, her hand smudged the ink, and that’s how she felt. A smudged inkblot at the top of a piece of paper. It both thrilled and terrified her. After staring at the blotch for too long, she crumple the piece of paper up and started again. She didn’t want to be a smudge.
a smear of darkened part on top of something amongst different discoloration
marking
spot
dot mark
like an ink blot, smudge my life away with your lies, i dont care if it ruins your sleeves because you have ruined me. i called a guinea pig smudge once, it died LIKE MY SOUL DID WHEN YOU SMUDGED ME OFF YOUR LIST
Their names were Smudge and Pebbles and they were bunnies. It was all very exciting with adventures and fun. One day they went on two adventures, then three adventures, then four. Soon enough their adventures were going on adventures of their own. In the end there were altogether too many adventures. Smudge and Pebbles ran out of pocket money and couldn’t afford any sweets to put in their adventure rucksacks and they ran out of space to do less adventurous things like drinking from their clickity ball-bearing bottles.
So maybe we’ll just get Pebbles hey, and leave Smudge here in the shop.
Letting her fingers dance across the fresh ink; soft smudges left behind in the shape of the ridges and valleys of her fingers.
The world became blurry, literally, as I walked away and tears fell from my eyes. Run, I thought. Run. Run, run, run, run, run. And as I ran hard and ran fast under the rain all I could think of was my smudged mascara.
smudge is something being tampered with. something messy. An object in which appears to be artistic in nature because of how it was not suppose to be there but appears to be there merely by accident. it is a indent of something that was used with color or shade, that upon forced into a pavement or canvas gave it its beauty.
smudge the dark lines of what we have
Into oblivion and hate
Underneath was warmth and kindness
But now just ash and shattering lines