I don’t know what binding is but I do know that it sounds complicated and very useful.
I hope is useful because if it’s not useful it would not mean any thing. But I hope it has nothing to do with school work….
Hoping that I am not seen nor found,
He’s beating down the door pound after pound.
Crawl up to the attic where he cannot fit,
Screaming and snarling he yells “You piece of shit.”
Safe I am until morning awakes,
Maybe he’ll believe that I’m dead if I fakes.
The sun rises as I open the attic door, my protective gate,
And down I go to collect my fate.
Not here, no he is not here yet,
I look at the mother who treats me no better than a pet.
The crack whore drunk is not a rare delicacy indeed,
If only there was some way to be finally freed.
I can hear his stomping approach, alarm bells chiming in my head,
Oh how I wish I could be dead.
Radiating hatred and fury, along with the sweet smell of drink, smoke, and sweat,
Oh God no, he must have lost the bet.
He draws nearer with a bottle in one hand and a binding leather belt in the other,
I scuttle away, glancing once at it, the pitiful excuse of a supposed mother.
The oaf sneers a god awful smile,
And I cannot imagine anything more sickening or more vile.
Slamming hard into the wall from his powerful shove,
I steel myself as I wait for bite of the closest thing I have to love.
Hoping that I am not seen nor found,
He’s beating down the door pound after pound.
Crawl up to the attic where he cannot fit,
Screaming and snarling he yells “You piece of shit.”
Safe I am until morning awakes,
Maybe he’ll believe that I’m dead if I fakes.
The sun rises as I open the attic door, my protective gate,
And down I go to collect my fate.
Not here, no he is not here yet,
I look at the mother who treats me no better than a pet.
The crack whore drunk is not a rare delicacy indeed,
If only there was some way to be finally freed.
I can hear his stomping approach, alarm bells chiming in my head,
Oh how I wish I could be dead.
Radiating hatred and fury along with the sweet smell of drink, smoke, and sweat,
Oh God no, he must have lost the bet.
He draws nearer with a bottle in one hand and a binding leather belt in the other,
I scuttle away, glancing once at it, the pitiful excuse of a supposed mother.
The oaf sneers a god awful smile,
And I cannot imagine anything more sickening or more vile.
Slamming hard into the wall from his powerful shove,
I steel myself as I wait for bite of the closest thing I have to love.
Sarah Landy
Like a binding contract, I’m impossible to get rid of. I’ll be forever yours, stuck by your side through rain or shine.
Desiree J
I was bound to him by mistake. I never thought it would end this way, but it did. What if he didn’t like me like I liked him? No matter what, he will have that piece of me I gave to him, binding us together.
Jackie
everything is binding to something
we are all bound to each other in some way
I feel bound to my lover
to my friends
I feel that in come strange way I am bound to the earth
to nature to everything around me
Kendra
I was binding my brother’s hands and feet together. He enjoyed it. And so did i. We had a lot
lynn murray
The shirt I had on was so binding. It made me feel so uncomfortable and unable to breath. I hate it! So I sold it ;)
Nicole
The binding of the ancient book tore apart, leaving the pages dangling. The contents of the cover’s parts could be seen; the old glue that had worn away, the cardboard holding it together, and the simple paper that gave the text it’s uniqueness. All torn asunder as the binding came apart.
John B.
desire binding me to you
lust binding me to you
love binding me to you
but nothing binding you to me
i am bound and you are not
how do i break the ties that hold me to you but not you to me?
Binding us together is love. You ever so close to me, our hands intertwined. Our love binds us together. Makes us inseparable. Makes us one. Our love engulfs us with blind eyes, wraps us with joy, and most of all fills the other half of my heart and my soul.
Danielle
family is binding. true friendship is binding. all i need in this world to be bound to are those things. nothing can break or shake the relationships that mean the most to me. they are the most important things that make me, me.
There was a small feather stuck in the binding of the leather book. I pulled it out and scrutinized it. It was silver with white at the tip. The feather I’d seen in a dream. I opened the book to a random page. It was beautiful. A sketch of a brilliant silver bird with a proud white chest and red around the neck. I make it my mission to find it.
There’s only one thing binding me to this life. The sweet caress of blue, purple, grey. The overwhelming combinations of orange, yellow, and red. Earthly greens and browns. And of course, everlasting white. The possibilities instilled in each of these is so overjoyously unlimited. Nothing will stop me from using them.
Only one thing keeps me here. Music overflowing, words and their rythms combined. Voiceless, I am kept from joining in to nature’s song.
The only think that keeps me here us creativity. In it, I am not bound to anything.
Mary stared into the thick brush behind the house they lived in — or the house they used to live in, starting tomorrow — for the last time. Behind her, faded from view by the sunset streaked glass, were dozens of boxes bound in all different kinds of tape, her husband too frugal to go out and buy more duct, the affect of this being that her things looked like they were going to be donated, not moved halfway across the country. New Mexico. What in God’s name was she going to do in New Mexico? She blew a stream of cigarette smoke into the air and watched it weaken and separate, but not before she had the passing thought of a cloud rising from her mouth and blocking out the sun, to the extent that everything on earth should wither and die. After all: if she could no longer enjoy California. Why should anybody else? She remembered suddenly Edward Cope, who had discovered a mass graveyard of Ceolophysis dinosaurs at the Ghost Ranch in New Mexico. Scientists were bewildered by the mass of fossils in the sand, and attributed it to a mass flood. But Mary knew better. Mary knew it was an act of God, who to her was just another angry woman, who had grown bored with her early primordial creations. She blew out another stream of smoke and concentrated and prayed hard for a future in which scientists would uncover a mass suburban grave and posture: It looks like everyone here died of boredom.
The binding on my book isbeginning to fall off. I stare at it ruefully for a moment, and turn it over in my hands. How the hell am i supposed to study with this thing, its a piece of junk. goodbye university marks
Bonnie
his hands held mind and i didnt want to be the one to let go first. i hate endings like these, where he’s so lost in me and i’m so lost in something bigger. i dont want to be stuck here. i dont want to be trapped. i want to be something better than this, i want to get out of this town.
I’ve never been bounded before. I wonder how scary it is for a person to be bound. Are you talking about binding as of a binder? Bindin
Anter Blackbird
binding me to you is love. binding me to this bicycle is gravity. binding me to life is joy. binding me to being an America is money. binding me to music is passion. binding and setting free.
She crossed the threshold, sighing whimsically. The damage hand been over, the contract had been null, she should be happy, that is to say, she should be free. But, she strangely wasn’t. She missed them all, the twins, the large black girl, the tall Asian boy (especially him), she horribly missed them, and now that the binding was undone, and she was left to herself, she could only look to their ghosts for the memories of what happened, and what could have been.
binding the strings of life together in one bundle, congruent and special, making fast with bindings to keep it all from coming apart, contractual to avoid the misgivings of unbound loyalty in as it is to itself manifested. Unbinding all that was made fast.
eyeinthesky
The binding that held us together was breaking; I knew that. I could feel the fibres falling apart as your eyes became more unfamiliar, and I could feel myself reaching out a hand. But unlike me, you wanted this to happen. You let it break and you let my hand touch nothing but air. And then you left me, alone, with only a broken cord as my friend.
Bound to the force of humanity, bound to the strings that control the universe. Bound eternally, no escape. There is no way out of this control, this madness, this apocalyptic hell-hole that consumes our lives. There is no way out.
You must try to find one anyway.
Binding. To put together. Marriage. To marry something. To marry somebody. I’m thinking about marriage. oh no.
Gloria
You and me. Being in the same room. It’s like my mind is reaching for a pole to attach to. Safety. You’re not safe. And I love it. I can bind myself to you. I want to, because you’re like a racing car. The danger is what drives you. And I need the action. I need the binding
Helena
The ropes are pressing tighter against my wrists and ankles. The air around me is harder and harder to breathe with each moment. I feel like I am floating in the most horrible of ways, like a balloon being deflated, my life leaving slowly. But there are no ropes; I am the cause of this pain. The ropes are me.
I saw a light and it was blinding, I never knew what it felt like to truly not see the world until now, everything was beautiful and dark, only the sound of the waves lapping against my feet, that was my world, right there and then, I was happy and blind.
Livi
binding i dont know bind bind …. what does it mean ? b-i-n-d-i-n-g . to bind something? is it ./… no I don’t know…
ana
Binding is that stuff on the side of the note pad. It keeps it together. Things that bind us keep us from falling apart but they can also make us feel imprisoned. They keep our notes tidy and in order, but perhaps at the cost of being creative with wild abandon.
Niall
binding fears untackle my soul, lift through my heart turn to dreams, held back by self lifted by faith mixture of melancholics roll.
In the binding of the book, I saw your initials. I wonder where you had gone. What you had done. Bound for some great work. The threading of words, stiching, imprinting onto your soul. Propelling you further from here and into the world beyond. Greater things. Leaving me behind.
It was peeling away, the binding that kept the the sofa cushion together. K looked around the room and finally noticed all the other things that were in need of some tender loving care.
L W
I worked in a book binding factory one summer. The job amounted to serving gigantic, rhythmic machines. We’d put the “forms” of printed material into the machines, and then we’d take the completed books off. It was grueling work, but I tried to make it more interesting by finding a rhythm that fit with a musical piece I was familiar with.
The binding fell away from her eyes. She screamed. She had never seen the light and now it burned deep into her head, hurting the very core of her. Why had they brought her from her darkness and into this hellish place? Why was she being taken from her family? The world had been ordered and safe, but now she watched in terror as great beings prolific in hair and rasping, rough voices stood over her.
ok so I was given this word. Binging. Binding… books… papers, things. I mean, everything can be binned… ok no, not really I’m just rambling. Uhm, ok, so, binding. I’m so out of inspiration and this word doesn’t help at all lol.
Marcelo
I sat on the swing, swirling my feet in the dirt and watching Toboggan. He’d been tied outside the movie theater across the street for over an hour now. I’d seen Mr. Armstrong walking the pooch then tie him to the pole and then go inside the theater. I bet Toboggan is wondering why his walk was cut short and why Mr. Armstrong is going to the movies alone in the middle of the day. He’s been scratching his neck a lot so I bet he’s thinking the collar is uncomfortable. Maybe it’s too tight and is digging into his skin. I bet he’d rather be free until Mr. Armstrong comes out. Maybe I should help him. He’s probably as bored as I am.
binding is what goes on in fifty shades of grey, christain likes to bind anastasia!!
his favourite is his tie, she likes that tie too
thats why its the cover of the first book
bondage
s&m
binding is also what keeps books together
I don’t know what binding is but I do know that it sounds complicated and very useful.
I hope is useful because if it’s not useful it would not mean any thing. But I hope it has nothing to do with school work….
cant see. brightness makes blinding happen.
Hoping that I am not seen nor found,
He’s beating down the door pound after pound.
Crawl up to the attic where he cannot fit,
Screaming and snarling he yells “You piece of shit.”
Safe I am until morning awakes,
Maybe he’ll believe that I’m dead if I fakes.
The sun rises as I open the attic door, my protective gate,
And down I go to collect my fate.
Not here, no he is not here yet,
I look at the mother who treats me no better than a pet.
The crack whore drunk is not a rare delicacy indeed,
If only there was some way to be finally freed.
I can hear his stomping approach, alarm bells chiming in my head,
Oh how I wish I could be dead.
Radiating hatred and fury, along with the sweet smell of drink, smoke, and sweat,
Oh God no, he must have lost the bet.
He draws nearer with a bottle in one hand and a binding leather belt in the other,
I scuttle away, glancing once at it, the pitiful excuse of a supposed mother.
The oaf sneers a god awful smile,
And I cannot imagine anything more sickening or more vile.
Slamming hard into the wall from his powerful shove,
I steel myself as I wait for bite of the closest thing I have to love.
Hoping that I am not seen nor found,
He’s beating down the door pound after pound.
Crawl up to the attic where he cannot fit,
Screaming and snarling he yells “You piece of shit.”
Safe I am until morning awakes,
Maybe he’ll believe that I’m dead if I fakes.
The sun rises as I open the attic door, my protective gate,
And down I go to collect my fate.
Not here, no he is not here yet,
I look at the mother who treats me no better than a pet.
The crack whore drunk is not a rare delicacy indeed,
If only there was some way to be finally freed.
I can hear his stomping approach, alarm bells chiming in my head,
Oh how I wish I could be dead.
Radiating hatred and fury along with the sweet smell of drink, smoke, and sweat,
Oh God no, he must have lost the bet.
He draws nearer with a bottle in one hand and a binding leather belt in the other,
I scuttle away, glancing once at it, the pitiful excuse of a supposed mother.
The oaf sneers a god awful smile,
And I cannot imagine anything more sickening or more vile.
Slamming hard into the wall from his powerful shove,
I steel myself as I wait for bite of the closest thing I have to love.
Like a binding contract, I’m impossible to get rid of. I’ll be forever yours, stuck by your side through rain or shine.
I was bound to him by mistake. I never thought it would end this way, but it did. What if he didn’t like me like I liked him? No matter what, he will have that piece of me I gave to him, binding us together.
everything is binding to something
we are all bound to each other in some way
I feel bound to my lover
to my friends
I feel that in come strange way I am bound to the earth
to nature to everything around me
I was binding my brother’s hands and feet together. He enjoyed it. And so did i. We had a lot
The shirt I had on was so binding. It made me feel so uncomfortable and unable to breath. I hate it! So I sold it ;)
The binding of the ancient book tore apart, leaving the pages dangling. The contents of the cover’s parts could be seen; the old glue that had worn away, the cardboard holding it together, and the simple paper that gave the text it’s uniqueness. All torn asunder as the binding came apart.
desire binding me to you
lust binding me to you
love binding me to you
but nothing binding you to me
i am bound and you are not
how do i break the ties that hold me to you but not you to me?
Binding us together is love. You ever so close to me, our hands intertwined. Our love binds us together. Makes us inseparable. Makes us one. Our love engulfs us with blind eyes, wraps us with joy, and most of all fills the other half of my heart and my soul.
family is binding. true friendship is binding. all i need in this world to be bound to are those things. nothing can break or shake the relationships that mean the most to me. they are the most important things that make me, me.
There was a small feather stuck in the binding of the leather book. I pulled it out and scrutinized it. It was silver with white at the tip. The feather I’d seen in a dream. I opened the book to a random page. It was beautiful. A sketch of a brilliant silver bird with a proud white chest and red around the neck. I make it my mission to find it.
There’s only one thing binding me to this life. The sweet caress of blue, purple, grey. The overwhelming combinations of orange, yellow, and red. Earthly greens and browns. And of course, everlasting white. The possibilities instilled in each of these is so overjoyously unlimited. Nothing will stop me from using them.
Only one thing keeps me here. Music overflowing, words and their rythms combined. Voiceless, I am kept from joining in to nature’s song.
The only think that keeps me here us creativity. In it, I am not bound to anything.
jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj
Mary stared into the thick brush behind the house they lived in — or the house they used to live in, starting tomorrow — for the last time. Behind her, faded from view by the sunset streaked glass, were dozens of boxes bound in all different kinds of tape, her husband too frugal to go out and buy more duct, the affect of this being that her things looked like they were going to be donated, not moved halfway across the country. New Mexico. What in God’s name was she going to do in New Mexico? She blew a stream of cigarette smoke into the air and watched it weaken and separate, but not before she had the passing thought of a cloud rising from her mouth and blocking out the sun, to the extent that everything on earth should wither and die. After all: if she could no longer enjoy California. Why should anybody else? She remembered suddenly Edward Cope, who had discovered a mass graveyard of Ceolophysis dinosaurs at the Ghost Ranch in New Mexico. Scientists were bewildered by the mass of fossils in the sand, and attributed it to a mass flood. But Mary knew better. Mary knew it was an act of God, who to her was just another angry woman, who had grown bored with her early primordial creations. She blew out another stream of smoke and concentrated and prayed hard for a future in which scientists would uncover a mass suburban grave and posture: It looks like everyone here died of boredom.
The binding on my book isbeginning to fall off. I stare at it ruefully for a moment, and turn it over in my hands. How the hell am i supposed to study with this thing, its a piece of junk. goodbye university marks
his hands held mind and i didnt want to be the one to let go first. i hate endings like these, where he’s so lost in me and i’m so lost in something bigger. i dont want to be stuck here. i dont want to be trapped. i want to be something better than this, i want to get out of this town.
I’ve never been bounded before. I wonder how scary it is for a person to be bound. Are you talking about binding as of a binder? Bindin
binding me to you is love. binding me to this bicycle is gravity. binding me to life is joy. binding me to being an America is money. binding me to music is passion. binding and setting free.
She crossed the threshold, sighing whimsically. The damage hand been over, the contract had been null, she should be happy, that is to say, she should be free. But, she strangely wasn’t. She missed them all, the twins, the large black girl, the tall Asian boy (especially him), she horribly missed them, and now that the binding was undone, and she was left to herself, she could only look to their ghosts for the memories of what happened, and what could have been.
binding the strings of life together in one bundle, congruent and special, making fast with bindings to keep it all from coming apart, contractual to avoid the misgivings of unbound loyalty in as it is to itself manifested. Unbinding all that was made fast.
The binding that held us together was breaking; I knew that. I could feel the fibres falling apart as your eyes became more unfamiliar, and I could feel myself reaching out a hand. But unlike me, you wanted this to happen. You let it break and you let my hand touch nothing but air. And then you left me, alone, with only a broken cord as my friend.
Bound to the force of humanity, bound to the strings that control the universe. Bound eternally, no escape. There is no way out of this control, this madness, this apocalyptic hell-hole that consumes our lives. There is no way out.
You must try to find one anyway.
Binding. To put together. Marriage. To marry something. To marry somebody. I’m thinking about marriage. oh no.
You and me. Being in the same room. It’s like my mind is reaching for a pole to attach to. Safety. You’re not safe. And I love it. I can bind myself to you. I want to, because you’re like a racing car. The danger is what drives you. And I need the action. I need the binding
The ropes are pressing tighter against my wrists and ankles. The air around me is harder and harder to breathe with each moment. I feel like I am floating in the most horrible of ways, like a balloon being deflated, my life leaving slowly. But there are no ropes; I am the cause of this pain. The ropes are me.
I saw a light and it was blinding, I never knew what it felt like to truly not see the world until now, everything was beautiful and dark, only the sound of the waves lapping against my feet, that was my world, right there and then, I was happy and blind.
binding i dont know bind bind …. what does it mean ? b-i-n-d-i-n-g . to bind something? is it ./… no I don’t know…
Binding is that stuff on the side of the note pad. It keeps it together. Things that bind us keep us from falling apart but they can also make us feel imprisoned. They keep our notes tidy and in order, but perhaps at the cost of being creative with wild abandon.
binding fears untackle my soul, lift through my heart turn to dreams, held back by self lifted by faith mixture of melancholics roll.
In the binding of the book, I saw your initials. I wonder where you had gone. What you had done. Bound for some great work. The threading of words, stiching, imprinting onto your soul. Propelling you further from here and into the world beyond. Greater things. Leaving me behind.
It was peeling away, the binding that kept the the sofa cushion together. K looked around the room and finally noticed all the other things that were in need of some tender loving care.
I worked in a book binding factory one summer. The job amounted to serving gigantic, rhythmic machines. We’d put the “forms” of printed material into the machines, and then we’d take the completed books off. It was grueling work, but I tried to make it more interesting by finding a rhythm that fit with a musical piece I was familiar with.
The binding fell away from her eyes. She screamed. She had never seen the light and now it burned deep into her head, hurting the very core of her. Why had they brought her from her darkness and into this hellish place? Why was she being taken from her family? The world had been ordered and safe, but now she watched in terror as great beings prolific in hair and rasping, rough voices stood over her.
ok so I was given this word. Binging. Binding… books… papers, things. I mean, everything can be binned… ok no, not really I’m just rambling. Uhm, ok, so, binding. I’m so out of inspiration and this word doesn’t help at all lol.
I sat on the swing, swirling my feet in the dirt and watching Toboggan. He’d been tied outside the movie theater across the street for over an hour now. I’d seen Mr. Armstrong walking the pooch then tie him to the pole and then go inside the theater. I bet Toboggan is wondering why his walk was cut short and why Mr. Armstrong is going to the movies alone in the middle of the day. He’s been scratching his neck a lot so I bet he’s thinking the collar is uncomfortable. Maybe it’s too tight and is digging into his skin. I bet he’d rather be free until Mr. Armstrong comes out. Maybe I should help him. He’s probably as bored as I am.
together, marriage, bridge, love, family, enemies, joined, eternity
binding is what goes on in fifty shades of grey, christain likes to bind anastasia!!
his favourite is his tie, she likes that tie too
thats why its the cover of the first book
bondage
s&m
binding is also what keeps books together