How can anyone ever truly be themselves? In this world I am always looking for something new, something different. I molt every day. I shed my skin. Who am I to think that other people don’t as well? Everyone around me has something different to share, a story going on. The notion that anyone is truly themselves is a straight jacket on creativity.
They sit by themselves in the bathroom, eating crumbs of discarded Pop-Tarts and lint fuzz they have mistaken for bread. They wonder how they came to be in this soil-less land with no light.
“All you ever do is talk about yourself!”
“So? I’m just being honest. What do most people want to talk about? Themselves, their problems. What do they think about when another person’s talking? Themselves.”
“Don’t you ever think about me?”
the kids talked amongst themselves, unsure of what to do. Their teacher lay on the floor of the classroom, her eyes closed and her hands folded neatly over her stomach.
“well,” Tabitha said, “I guess we can have class outside then!”
They see themselves in the mirror along the rooms far wall. They all look so similar. It is hard to tell themselves apart from one another, but in the end that is what they signed up for so they should not be so surprised. They smile. They hold up their hands and approach one another.
They only worry about themselves.
They leave the rest of us perched on shelves
They stay inside their little fucking shells
Just wait until they hear the ringing bells.
I think I might love you. But then again, I might not. They, themselves being the operative. I don’t think I love you, but they sure as hell love themselves, and isn’t that just peachy.
They were happy by themselves, having a blast at the shoppers on the corner of wayfarer and main. A happy place for two people hard on their luck, giving it one last go before the final whistle at dawn. Happier than home and cracks in the sidewalk, yelling mothers and small, cold babies.
They stood by themselves looking over the water to the huge group of students on the other side. They were glad that they had skipped school that day because of the clouds that concentrated themselves on the other side of the river.
They left themselves at Walmart and the keg stand
But I left them at the supermarket,
by the eggplants,
so that I’d always have them,
pressed and dried
They only care about themselves, but I am no different. Always worried about my well being. How is my progress? How am I learning about who I am? How does it matter anyway? Ashes in the end.
They themselves
No nothing of me
Not of my heart and soul
and dreamer mind
they themselves,
themselves,
themselves
Do you even ever know me?
You yourselves, yourselves
Do you remember me?
Other, apart from me and I can’t join them. secluded of from me and perhaps unaware of myself. More unaware of myself than I am. One of us is selfish but i cant tell who.
they find themselves in books and laundry, in kitchey suveneirs and the backs of spoons, in salad bowls and pasta bowls and the jingle of keys in the lock.
They kept it to themselves, the secret treasure. Far from home they hid themselves away to share fortune together. The world was inconsequential and its daily duties weren’t worth much. Times were tough, people of their creed were destitute, exiles in their own land. So Maria and Brynojff bit the bullet, the shared diary of the two scattering along the winds page by page for the world to discover or forget piece by piece.
They themselves never questioned it, they knew better. Why would they question something that they didn’t “have” to know. The others knew, and the others were always watching out for them and always had been. What would make it any different now? Questions only caused more problems and problems caused more questions and that led to more issues only resulting in the effort that everyone just needed to learn how to shut up.
They are themselves in their bright hats and coatfeathers made of gin. I saw you standing there among them, disguised, quite badly, if I do say so myself, with a grin like a cheshire cat in the pale moonlight. I saw you there and I was disgusted. You pulled your teeth together and bit on the side of your mouth. I knew you were bleeding from your gums.
i was once told a “themself” was incorrect, you’d have to tape a bunch of selves together to make a themself, and i hope i dont forget her
she told me i could write
I thought about all of them. The tall the short the wrong the right. I thought about them but most of all what they thought of themselves. The tall were too tall, the short were too short, the medium neither short nor tall enough. Nobody could be right or wrong. And so they went through life thinking about themselves not right enough, because if they did think right enough, then they wouldn’t think much at all.
They just weren’t feeling like themselves today. The Sub had sapped the energy out of their souls, standing idly by while they worked on countless boring worksheets. One student wondered when their regular teacher would come and save them. No, they definitely weren’t feeling like themselves.
However they always called themselves the “themselves” it was their special name and no one dared tell them otherwise, because that was who they are and always had been. The Themselves wrote fear into all that spoke the name and gave fear to any that heard the name for the first time.
Themselves. She always thought of them as keeping to themselves. To whom else would they keep, she asked. Why though, did they walk eveyroday heading no where?
For I loved them. But I guess they just didn’t feel the same. They just loved themselves. Pride was not the sin. For vanity was prominent. I will never love them as much as they loved themselves.
They thought a lot of the,selves, those beings, those beasts. They thought a lot of themselves with their long, flowing, silvery hair and their colorful bumpy backs. They thought a lot of themselves but not much of anyone else, that much was obvious. But I knew what they really were. I saw through their facade. I knew the truth.
I walk down the otherwise empty street, hearing the sound of nothing echo through my ears. The silence is thrilling and terrifying, something I haven’t felt in a long time–something I haven’t felt since all they cared about was themselves and I had to stand up for myself. My life is quite boring now, but a cold walk during the middle of the night always shakes things up.
i already wrote about this word before i registered i didn’t know it was the word of the day i didn’t know there was a word of the day, silver blue silver blue and not like a sky blue more like a royal blue like the exact blue of the fake velvet doc martens i saw at target
She looked up at the word looming over her head. “‘Themselves’? That’s a terrible prompt! How am I supposed to talk about this? There’s no substance to it! No ideas! I don’t even know what I’m doing here anymore. I should just leave. ‘Themselves’. Pfft!”
They had looked at themselves in the mirror for the first time and admired the way they looked as a couple. Their height worked well together. They were, undeniably, cute together.
How can anyone ever truly be themselves? In this world I am always looking for something new, something different. I molt every day. I shed my skin. Who am I to think that other people don’t as well? Everyone around me has something different to share, a story going on. The notion that anyone is truly themselves is a straight jacket on creativity.
They sit by themselves in the bathroom, eating crumbs of discarded Pop-Tarts and lint fuzz they have mistaken for bread. They wonder how they came to be in this soil-less land with no light.
“All you ever do is talk about yourself!”
“So? I’m just being honest. What do most people want to talk about? Themselves, their problems. What do they think about when another person’s talking? Themselves.”
“Don’t you ever think about me?”
the kids talked amongst themselves, unsure of what to do. Their teacher lay on the floor of the classroom, her eyes closed and her hands folded neatly over her stomach.
“well,” Tabitha said, “I guess we can have class outside then!”
They see themselves in the mirror along the rooms far wall. They all look so similar. It is hard to tell themselves apart from one another, but in the end that is what they signed up for so they should not be so surprised. They smile. They hold up their hands and approach one another.
They only worry about themselves.
They leave the rest of us perched on shelves
They stay inside their little fucking shells
Just wait until they hear the ringing bells.
They’ll be nothing left to salvage.
selfish
superficialism
money
pleasure
careing
hapiness
I think I might love you. But then again, I might not. They, themselves being the operative. I don’t think I love you, but they sure as hell love themselves, and isn’t that just peachy.
They were happy by themselves, having a blast at the shoppers on the corner of wayfarer and main. A happy place for two people hard on their luck, giving it one last go before the final whistle at dawn. Happier than home and cracks in the sidewalk, yelling mothers and small, cold babies.
They stood by themselves looking over the water to the huge group of students on the other side. They were glad that they had skipped school that day because of the clouds that concentrated themselves on the other side of the river.
They left themselves at Walmart and the keg stand
But I left them at the supermarket,
by the eggplants,
so that I’d always have them,
pressed and dried
They only care about themselves, but I am no different. Always worried about my well being. How is my progress? How am I learning about who I am? How does it matter anyway? Ashes in the end.
They themselves
No nothing of me
Not of my heart and soul
and dreamer mind
they themselves,
themselves,
themselves
Do you even ever know me?
You yourselves, yourselves
Do you remember me?
I looked in the mirror this morning and you were behind me. We saw each other’s eyes as we brushed our teeth.
they think
only
of themselves
and I
only
think of
them
(all the time all the time I will wonder why)
Other, apart from me and I can’t join them. secluded of from me and perhaps unaware of myself. More unaware of myself than I am. One of us is selfish but i cant tell who.
they find themselves in books and laundry, in kitchey suveneirs and the backs of spoons, in salad bowls and pasta bowls and the jingle of keys in the lock.
they love themselves. but do they really? That’s what they say.
it’s all about themselves.
thyselves.
yes.
never anyone else.
They kept it to themselves, the secret treasure. Far from home they hid themselves away to share fortune together. The world was inconsequential and its daily duties weren’t worth much. Times were tough, people of their creed were destitute, exiles in their own land. So Maria and Brynojff bit the bullet, the shared diary of the two scattering along the winds page by page for the world to discover or forget piece by piece.
They themselves never questioned it, they knew better. Why would they question something that they didn’t “have” to know. The others knew, and the others were always watching out for them and always had been. What would make it any different now? Questions only caused more problems and problems caused more questions and that led to more issues only resulting in the effort that everyone just needed to learn how to shut up.
They are themselves in their bright hats and coatfeathers made of gin. I saw you standing there among them, disguised, quite badly, if I do say so myself, with a grin like a cheshire cat in the pale moonlight. I saw you there and I was disgusted. You pulled your teeth together and bit on the side of your mouth. I knew you were bleeding from your gums.
i already did this word guys. This is the word that showed up when I first discovered this site. I don’t want to write about themselves anymore
i was once told a “themself” was incorrect, you’d have to tape a bunch of selves together to make a themself, and i hope i dont forget her
she told me i could write
I thought about all of them. The tall the short the wrong the right. I thought about them but most of all what they thought of themselves. The tall were too tall, the short were too short, the medium neither short nor tall enough. Nobody could be right or wrong. And so they went through life thinking about themselves not right enough, because if they did think right enough, then they wouldn’t think much at all.
They just weren’t feeling like themselves today. The Sub had sapped the energy out of their souls, standing idly by while they worked on countless boring worksheets. One student wondered when their regular teacher would come and save them. No, they definitely weren’t feeling like themselves.
They themselves enjoy walking up the lives of a thousand young souls crying in desperation, waiting for the sun to end this reign of
“Us”
and
“Them”
I’ve never trusted in what they tell themselves and what they tell us.
Because they are humans as you and me and are thus flawed.
However they always called themselves the “themselves” it was their special name and no one dared tell them otherwise, because that was who they are and always had been. The Themselves wrote fear into all that spoke the name and gave fear to any that heard the name for the first time.
They like to lick themselves
like little kittens mewing
they are comforted by soft milk
after a long day
Themselves. She always thought of them as keeping to themselves. To whom else would they keep, she asked. Why though, did they walk eveyroday heading no where?
they themselves are children
hoping for the best, expecting the worst
for there are no consequences for those who don’t consider them
For I loved them. But I guess they just didn’t feel the same. They just loved themselves. Pride was not the sin. For vanity was prominent. I will never love them as much as they loved themselves.
they, those people being them.
They
Are by themselves
All together
In the corners
Of their lips
They thought a lot of the,selves, those beings, those beasts. They thought a lot of themselves with their long, flowing, silvery hair and their colorful bumpy backs. They thought a lot of themselves but not much of anyone else, that much was obvious. But I knew what they really were. I saw through their facade. I knew the truth.
ego is the death of the heart
the mind takes its last breath
they´re gone
I walk down the otherwise empty street, hearing the sound of nothing echo through my ears. The silence is thrilling and terrifying, something I haven’t felt in a long time–something I haven’t felt since all they cared about was themselves and I had to stand up for myself. My life is quite boring now, but a cold walk during the middle of the night always shakes things up.
i already wrote about this word before i registered i didn’t know it was the word of the day i didn’t know there was a word of the day, silver blue silver blue and not like a sky blue more like a royal blue like the exact blue of the fake velvet doc martens i saw at target
She looked up at the word looming over her head. “‘Themselves’? That’s a terrible prompt! How am I supposed to talk about this? There’s no substance to it! No ideas! I don’t even know what I’m doing here anymore. I should just leave. ‘Themselves’. Pfft!”
They had looked at themselves in the mirror for the first time and admired the way they looked as a couple. Their height worked well together. They were, undeniably, cute together.
They are themselves-
So let them be.
They’re just as true as you or me.
Let them think and let them delve
Into how they express themselves.