Sticks and stones can break you bones and words will always hurt me. So what, I’m sensitive, is that it? You love me but not enough to be with me, is that what you’re saying? I love you but it doesn’t matter, does that hurt? Good, now you get it.
Backing away slowly I look behind me trying to find something to ward off the Dog
And as I step back my foot lands on a big stick ,perfect just what I need.
Bailey picked up the stick and through it across the field. If only Coach Anderson had seen that. He wouldn’t have put Audrey at pitcher, no sir! But Coach never watched Bailey. Never.
I couldn’t stick to it. No matter how hard I tried I could never keep at it. The thing just fell apart every time i attempted it. It just didn’t work. The glue wouldn’t stick.
Sticks are parts of branches on trees. I can stick my hand up a cow’s ass, but probably wouldn’t want to for fear of coming into contact with some STICKY poo. If I grabbed a stick off the ground and hit you with it, it would bruise you. I’m going to revoke my previous statement that sticks are part of trees and say that they only exist when the twigs on a branch break off and fall to the ground. Stick with that idea and maybe it will get stuck.
A stick in the eye, a stick in the mud, stick to it, stick to your guns. Keep going no matter how hard it gets. Trudge on and maybe you’ll see the light at the end of the tunnel, then you can stick it to the man and get on the stick and roar on outta there. At least I hope so!
This is the moment, everything slows down; //your moment//; this is what all your training was for. Now, is the time to prove your worth; in these seconds, you realise you will go down as a legend, as a hero , but then, the moment has passed, to the guy next to you, he takes it and all because the trigger decided to stick or you choked.
You stick to me like glue. You are smothering me. I wish I could like you, but honestly, i can’t like someone that likes me too much. I don’t really know why. You’re attractive and smart, but seriously need to get some social skills. I always want the person who DOESN’t stick with me. Who doesn’t give a shit about me. Its a serious problem, because i’ll never end up with a good guy if i can’t take the ones that WAnt
“It’s a stick, Alfred,” Arthur sighed, agitated. Alfred whimpered, looking at the broken branch in his hands. “A stick.” The tall American kept staring at the mutilated branch as Arthur walked away.
I think of winter and placing arms for men made of snow. I think of aggressive hits amongst boys and their friends. These aggressive hits are pent up sexual tension, surely because all boys wanna fuck. I think of “sticky”, of candy made by mom at home.
I always wanted to have a dog that I can take to the beach and throw a stick for. Like, Britney Spears does it in one of her music videos that I used to be obsessed with as a child. When I did get a dog as I child I was so exited to start throwing sticks and look like one of those teenagers in 1950 suburban America. Unfortunately she wouldn’t fetch sticks.
stick. sticks. in the parent trap, the snobby girlfriend with the black leather backpack is convinced by lindsay lohan DOUBLED that there are mountain lions on the hiking trip so she smacks two sticks together on her way outside of the tent. clack clack, clack clack. sticks.
when i think stick i like to think about the gum that i usually stick at the bottom of the plush red velvet seat during assembly. for some reason this is my small way of “sticking” it to the man. it’s lame, and it usually backfires because sometimes the gum falls off of my velvet seat and gets onto the outside of my leather boot, which is usually rather embarrassing and pops up later in the day… i’m sorry about that
There’s a stick on the ground. Just laying there. Imagine what it could be if you use your imagination: a wand, a pencil, a tree branch, a ruler, the key to the world, flagpole, or maybe it’s just a stick.
it lays unbroken, yet all the same broken once. tossed and carved by sand and waves, beautiful yet so simplistic. i dare to pick it up, to pretend, to make it magic wand and weapon in one. then, i tire of it, tossing it back to carving seas and sands, where another may choose to make it their toy.
stick kind of makes me think about things stuck in your butt. i know that’s really gross but it’s the truth. when i think about sticks i prefer to think about little ones because big sticks can kill you. like twigs. my friend and i used to make little twig houses for our pet leprechaun.
You ol’ stick in the mud!
That’s what they used to say to me when I wouldn’t go out and commit possible felonies with them.
You won’t get in trouble; we do it every weekend, and look at us! Nothing!
So one night I decided to go out with them and see what would come of it.
I’m still working off the community service hours for my DUI.
long and hard, from branches, from trees, products of roots, products of endless time to wait and grow. sunrise and sunset, rain and shine, creating a spindle of shape and color. from it stems emeralds and gold, garnet. jewels of nature, all from one thing. to fall is to become a toy, a weapon, litter.
as a little girl sticks proved to be a large part of my life because i would carve them into walking sticks for when my father and i went camping in the woods. they were a symbol of love, when both of us walked with sticks, it was l ike we were in harmony, never to be broken. a father and his daughter together, hanging out in nature.
I have a stick, a stick that shines. I love this stick, though it wants me dead. Whatever shall I do? Do I run? Do I hide? Neither will do for it rules over all ninja as their esteemed pharaoh.
I had just finished uttering the words “Please be careful with that stick” when my girlfriend hauled back with a baseball bat sized stick she was throwing for the dog, released it too late and hit me right on the orbit of my eye! We were on the beach, the blood contrasting against white sand was impressive, it drew a crowd.
The kinds of sticks that we found on the ground were the kind that you could use to pretend to be wizards. We spent the the rest of the day playing in the backyard like were children. That day was perfect.
stick it to the man. everyday when i wake up that is my goal. every action, every movement, every gesture is meant to say hey wake up i’m here and i’m not a man. we don’t all want the same things. and everyone should get what they want. its only fair you know.
skinny little thing it may be brown and it may sting you and it can poke you. It can be found on the floor, in the trash or even in your room. That’s a stick. in another way it can be something that can stick to you.
This sick stick is the pick of the slick tricks.
Use it for those things and stuff and do things with your stick.
Don’t be a stick in the muddddddd.
Don’t be thick, think like a stick.
Don’t be a prick and stick to your old tricks.
It’s sticky, the sap. But she knows it’s the only way she’s going to save her, the only way she’ll survive. She pours it over her lover’s wound, and the taller woman flinches. It helps, but just barely. She hopes it helps. Oh, please, please let it have helped.
was on it’s way to being a very nice tree….now it is not. poor little stick. maybe it will have a good life. maybe a nice roasting apparatus for marshmallows. or it could get a drool bath from a nice dog. it would bring enjoyment either way. a lovely life as a stick. what more could a piece of broken tree ask for?
i want to stick with this writing thing. how though everything seems to distract me from it. I don’t even know where to stick everything that I write about. anyway I hope that the places like ohlife.com and 750words.com can helpt to make this happen but i wish i could write more on my posterous.
Once when I was sitting in my backyard I couldn’t help but think of the enormous amount of sticks behind me. There were just so many but I had never thought of them before then. Could they be as of little importance as I’d thought them all along?
Whats something simple? A stick. Just lying there, doing nothing on the ground. Probably under a tree. Where it fell. Too lazy to move. Sometimes I feel like a stick. Then I realize that that’s a horrible analogy.
It was hard to stick with him after awhile. She was so sure that he was promising, sterling, an adventurer and a gentleman. He was none of those things and she finally got unstuck.
stick it to you man yes stick stick stick fag bundle of faggots cigarettes i want to be smoking right now i want to see lipstick prints on a cigarette i want it to be melon-coloured. i want to be in europe right this moment. i want a vespa. i want a stick.
Sticks and stones can break you bones and words will always hurt me. So what, I’m sensitive, is that it? You love me but not enough to be with me, is that what you’re saying? I love you but it doesn’t matter, does that hurt? Good, now you get it.
Backing away slowly I look behind me trying to find something to ward off the Dog
And as I step back my foot lands on a big stick ,perfect just what I need.
Bailey picked up the stick and through it across the field. If only Coach Anderson had seen that. He wouldn’t have put Audrey at pitcher, no sir! But Coach never watched Bailey. Never.
Stick.
Stuck.
Stack.
Stock.
Steck.
Hmmm.
Steck is the only one not counted as a word.
Fun times.
thin. pointless marker. the rejected, dead shell of a once powerful being.
I couldn’t stick to it. No matter how hard I tried I could never keep at it. The thing just fell apart every time i attempted it. It just didn’t work. The glue wouldn’t stick.
Sticks are parts of branches on trees. I can stick my hand up a cow’s ass, but probably wouldn’t want to for fear of coming into contact with some STICKY poo. If I grabbed a stick off the ground and hit you with it, it would bruise you. I’m going to revoke my previous statement that sticks are part of trees and say that they only exist when the twigs on a branch break off and fall to the ground. Stick with that idea and maybe it will get stuck.
sticky note paper, post-its. wall paper, stick ball in the 20’s, sticky honey in tea’s not sicky anymore, prickly stick leading up to a rose, thorns.
the only type of people i can draw. even though i tell them i’m an artist.
A stick in the eye, a stick in the mud, stick to it, stick to your guns. Keep going no matter how hard it gets. Trudge on and maybe you’ll see the light at the end of the tunnel, then you can stick it to the man and get on the stick and roar on outta there. At least I hope so!
Apositive and conducive to a brilliant sort of energy.
Leaves and such. I asked after you.
This is the moment, everything slows down; //your moment//; this is what all your training was for. Now, is the time to prove your worth; in these seconds, you realise you will go down as a legend, as a hero , but then, the moment has passed, to the guy next to you, he takes it and all because the trigger decided to stick or you choked.
You stick to me like glue. You are smothering me. I wish I could like you, but honestly, i can’t like someone that likes me too much. I don’t really know why. You’re attractive and smart, but seriously need to get some social skills. I always want the person who DOESN’t stick with me. Who doesn’t give a shit about me. Its a serious problem, because i’ll never end up with a good guy if i can’t take the ones that WAnt
“It’s a stick, Alfred,” Arthur sighed, agitated. Alfred whimpered, looking at the broken branch in his hands. “A stick.” The tall American kept staring at the mutilated branch as Arthur walked away.
I think of winter and placing arms for men made of snow. I think of aggressive hits amongst boys and their friends. These aggressive hits are pent up sexual tension, surely because all boys wanna fuck. I think of “sticky”, of candy made by mom at home.
I always wanted to have a dog that I can take to the beach and throw a stick for. Like, Britney Spears does it in one of her music videos that I used to be obsessed with as a child. When I did get a dog as I child I was so exited to start throwing sticks and look like one of those teenagers in 1950 suburban America. Unfortunately she wouldn’t fetch sticks.
if i’m honest, i love the idea of a carrot to motivate me but react better to a stick. i wish that were not true.
stick. sticks. in the parent trap, the snobby girlfriend with the black leather backpack is convinced by lindsay lohan DOUBLED that there are mountain lions on the hiking trip so she smacks two sticks together on her way outside of the tent. clack clack, clack clack. sticks.
when i think stick i like to think about the gum that i usually stick at the bottom of the plush red velvet seat during assembly. for some reason this is my small way of “sticking” it to the man. it’s lame, and it usually backfires because sometimes the gum falls off of my velvet seat and gets onto the outside of my leather boot, which is usually rather embarrassing and pops up later in the day… i’m sorry about that
Stick in the mud. Stick to it. Sticker price.
What’s the use, if you won’t stick around?
Stick to it.
I’d rather be a stick in the mud.
Oh, won’t you stick around?
Just stick to it.
There’s a stick on the ground. Just laying there. Imagine what it could be if you use your imagination: a wand, a pencil, a tree branch, a ruler, the key to the world, flagpole, or maybe it’s just a stick.
it lays unbroken, yet all the same broken once. tossed and carved by sand and waves, beautiful yet so simplistic. i dare to pick it up, to pretend, to make it magic wand and weapon in one. then, i tire of it, tossing it back to carving seas and sands, where another may choose to make it their toy.
stick kind of makes me think about things stuck in your butt. i know that’s really gross but it’s the truth. when i think about sticks i prefer to think about little ones because big sticks can kill you. like twigs. my friend and i used to make little twig houses for our pet leprechaun.
You ol’ stick in the mud!
That’s what they used to say to me when I wouldn’t go out and commit possible felonies with them.
You won’t get in trouble; we do it every weekend, and look at us! Nothing!
So one night I decided to go out with them and see what would come of it.
I’m still working off the community service hours for my DUI.
long and hard, from branches, from trees, products of roots, products of endless time to wait and grow. sunrise and sunset, rain and shine, creating a spindle of shape and color. from it stems emeralds and gold, garnet. jewels of nature, all from one thing. to fall is to become a toy, a weapon, litter.
as a little girl sticks proved to be a large part of my life because i would carve them into walking sticks for when my father and i went camping in the woods. they were a symbol of love, when both of us walked with sticks, it was l ike we were in harmony, never to be broken. a father and his daughter together, hanging out in nature.
I have a stick, a stick that shines. I love this stick, though it wants me dead. Whatever shall I do? Do I run? Do I hide? Neither will do for it rules over all ninja as their esteemed pharaoh.
I had just finished uttering the words “Please be careful with that stick” when my girlfriend hauled back with a baseball bat sized stick she was throwing for the dog, released it too late and hit me right on the orbit of my eye! We were on the beach, the blood contrasting against white sand was impressive, it drew a crowd.
The kinds of sticks that we found on the ground were the kind that you could use to pretend to be wizards. We spent the the rest of the day playing in the backyard like were children. That day was perfect.
stick it to the man. everyday when i wake up that is my goal. every action, every movement, every gesture is meant to say hey wake up i’m here and i’m not a man. we don’t all want the same things. and everyone should get what they want. its only fair you know.
Stick in the mud, is no longer a common term. As matter of fact, I have no idea why I’m using it in this statement.
skinny little thing it may be brown and it may sting you and it can poke you. It can be found on the floor, in the trash or even in your room. That’s a stick. in another way it can be something that can stick to you.
This sick stick is the pick of the slick tricks.
Use it for those things and stuff and do things with your stick.
Don’t be a stick in the muddddddd.
Don’t be thick, think like a stick.
Don’t be a prick and stick to your old tricks.
It’s sticky, the sap. But she knows it’s the only way she’s going to save her, the only way she’ll survive. She pours it over her lover’s wound, and the taller woman flinches. It helps, but just barely. She hopes it helps. Oh, please, please let it have helped.
It does.
was on it’s way to being a very nice tree….now it is not. poor little stick. maybe it will have a good life. maybe a nice roasting apparatus for marshmallows. or it could get a drool bath from a nice dog. it would bring enjoyment either way. a lovely life as a stick. what more could a piece of broken tree ask for?
i want to stick with this writing thing. how though everything seems to distract me from it. I don’t even know where to stick everything that I write about. anyway I hope that the places like ohlife.com and 750words.com can helpt to make this happen but i wish i could write more on my posterous.
Once when I was sitting in my backyard I couldn’t help but think of the enormous amount of sticks behind me. There were just so many but I had never thought of them before then. Could they be as of little importance as I’d thought them all along?
Whats something simple? A stick. Just lying there, doing nothing on the ground. Probably under a tree. Where it fell. Too lazy to move. Sometimes I feel like a stick. Then I realize that that’s a horrible analogy.
It was hard to stick with him after awhile. She was so sure that he was promising, sterling, an adventurer and a gentleman. He was none of those things and she finally got unstuck.
stick it to you man yes stick stick stick fag bundle of faggots cigarettes i want to be smoking right now i want to see lipstick prints on a cigarette i want it to be melon-coloured. i want to be in europe right this moment. i want a vespa. i want a stick.