They used to make fun of me at school. I said they were birthmarks. They said God had chucked ink on me. I said God didn’t exist and they were stupid. They shut up. So did I. I don’t go to that school any more.
phrenology
Face, ugly skin oily skin , zits I have had acne when I was younger and hated it it was awful so i got Acutane and havent had a pimple since seriously it works its wonderful no more ugly awaful zits its a miracle solution I highly reccomend it
Jaclyn
I pulled out my favorite white shirt from the drier, and thats when my face bell, there were red and blue blotches all about it’s once lovely and pure cloth. It was ruined. I remembered at that moment, stuffing my two fountain pens in my pocket during math class…instead of in my purse as usual.
bleach stains one clothes in those tv commercials where they pour the cleanig stuff on stains and they magically disappear
sam douma
my fingers are covered in ink blotches from school, and blotch sounds very good. Hopscotch rhymes with blotch. Blotches and watches and lots of small scotches.
Blotches
The blotches on the table cloth told me the family had enjoyed a good meal. I wish I’d arrived sooner. If I hadn’t been stuck with the fisherman on the beach I might have made have made it on time for the second course. As it was I’d have to be content with the strong smell of bacalau in my nostrils instead of the food-coma bliss of pasta, wine, and espresso.
Julie
Blotches on my soul. Blotches like bruises, marks of pain. Where punches have hit and left their stains. Blotches on my face from the paths of tears. Blotches are notches of what I’ve endured.
There were blotches on my arm, big splotches. The ivy got me, entangled me in its leafy evil. I was lost in the nature, spying on a bird, and the ivy got me. I wish I had listened to my mother. I wish I had followed her word. I wish that I had worn long sleeves.
Maria
Scratchy, messy splashes
Red and black and that weird bruise color
chunks of thread and pimples
Mistakes and happy accident
a memory,
a tragedy,
a little lump of tissue
Leah
blotches are the most awful thing. For instance, when you lie on the bed and lean on your hand, you end up with a huge, red, palm-shaped blotch on your face. I don’t really get them much, but my mother suffers with a blotchy nose.
Lauren
of sunlight peeking through the leaves, making patterns of light and dark on the ground. the wind blows, the blotches sway and take on a life of their own.
A
Blotches is not a very nice word. It alludes to pimples, scars, just plain weird stuff on your face or body. If I called my freckles blotches that wouldn’t be a very nice word to call them. Some people call them angel kisses. I prefer to call them that. If I had blotches on my face, though, I’d hang my head high. I always do. If you have blotches, don’t worry, I like you!
There is not a person on this planet that can look in the mirror and not see a mistake. We are born to reflect poorly on ourselves. Specifically, I think everyone has hair somewhere on their body that they wish was not there. We try to hide these blotches physically, but can never remove them mentally.
They covered her skin like a map of hurt and pain and memories she wish she could wipe from her mind. They were all of varying colors, pinks and red and blues, and the occasional yellows and greens, though those were usually covered by new ones. She got used to the pain, the pulling and pushing and hurting sensations that sent her nerves screaming and raging towards the brain whenever she moved.
Blotches on your face, they are red and spread across your neck and your skin, but it is not ugly. It is beautiful because you are beautiful. Blotches, they aren’t so bad. They make me think of the sky as the sun sets. Why do they have be skin blotches? They can be blotches of paint. Of life on paper.
Michael
They are so annoying when they are on your pants, like a stain blotch. I see blotches of clouds in the sky. Blotches remind me of splotches of paint in a painting or on a wall.
Mrs. Bacon
*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*
She woke up groggy and dry-mouthed. A slowly accelerating whirl of images from the night before fell through her mind as she tried to open her eyes. All of them were of a common tack: bright, white smiles, low-cut shirts, and rocks-glasses to spare. She sat up, brushing them aside and stumbled to the bathroom. The fluorescent light above the mirror did nothing to soften the bags under her eyes or the blotches on her skin. She sighed.
When I first read this, I thought it said “biotches.” That would have been a fun word to write about. After I was done laughing, I realized how ugly the word blotches sounds.
some type of flowers that smell a lot, and are used in not very popular food, also are the symbol of a bad ended old love
daniel
I looked down at my arms and cringed in disgust. He had beaten me again. For nothing. It was never for anything. My arms were covered in horrid, red and purple blotches. I didn’t let the tears fall. Not again. I stood up and walked to my closet. I slid on a hoodie and my jeans. I walked out to the car, got in and drove away from this life.
Madison
face blotches. rain blotches. splotches? sounds fat and unpleasant, like being bloated. is there a pretty side to blotches? blotches of sun? sun blotches? acne? no, that’s not nice. what a world.
CW
Blotches of red spewed across the floor like tiny beads of lifelessness.
Thomas Strout
The paper was covered in several in blotches. It was as if the beautiful Fountain pen had come down with a case of stomach flu and puked all over the manuscript. However, it was the fault of the writer, to create the blotches. The writer had simply just decided to take his anger out on the paper and this was the result.
There are blotches on my face. From geology. I hate it, seriously. I don’t care how far I am from an earthquake. I’m more focused on the earthquake itself. Bad attitude, that’s what that is. It’s the truth though, maybe more true than the science behind it all. My poor attitude.
Jacob
There are blotches of ink all over my paper. The exploding ink created blotches of things that I recognize: a tree,
blotches of tomato soup on her shirt looked like stained blood, she suddenly realized. What will the kids think ??
Loveleen Mishra
The blotches on her face are hideous, a teen’s worst nightmare. The cream doesn’t help at all. She can’t possibly go out like this. FaceBook status update: “FML. D:”
It was the blotches on his hands that he couldn’t hide.
The expensive suit, the revamped vocabulary and the high-priced education – but when you looked at his hands, the blotches gave him away as a blue-color guy made good.
He hated it and wore gloves wore gloves whenever he could get away with it socially. But the blotches remained.
His past. It defined him.
JamesXavier
There are blotches all over. They are on walls. In the sky. On men’s souls. Blotches of ink, of blood, of thought. Blotches are a part of the fabric of life.
Amanda Hardin
are red and often considered to be a sign of unsightly skin problems. They often are accompanied by itchiness and can be treated or covered through the use of lotion and/or make-up. Doctors will often see blotches in areas of treatment in a typical pediatric setting.
Adam
Blotches of purple on his arms and a cigarette in his mouth (it’s unlit). Smoke everywhere, it’s getting in my eyes and I can’t see anything but spots of colors; like the purple blotches on his arms, which he got fighting for the honor of someone he once knew. He’s kind, but not really bright.
Andora
I have this blotch on my newest notepad and it’s driving me crazy. I prefer to write on clean paper because I want it to be well preserved after I die… I guess it’s okay though, because it’ll look super authentic and vintage by the time I’m 60, right? right.
GZJ
I’m lucky, I have clear skin, not blotchy. I hate blotchy red skin. My twin often gets it because her skin is so sensitive. Like a little flower. But can blotches be pretty? Maybe on a tie-dye skirt or t shirt. Hippyish. Like flowers in the hair, or long plaits!
Chloe Hamilton
blotches, staines, all the same
when people get them sometimes it gets really ugly
for once i known a gilr, who got a designer dress on when she was walking to her work
she ran in to some guy with a hotdog in his hand… they are now happilly maried :D
They used to make fun of me at school. I said they were birthmarks. They said God had chucked ink on me. I said God didn’t exist and they were stupid. They shut up. So did I. I don’t go to that school any more.
Face, ugly skin oily skin , zits I have had acne when I was younger and hated it it was awful so i got Acutane and havent had a pimple since seriously it works its wonderful no more ugly awaful zits its a miracle solution I highly reccomend it
I pulled out my favorite white shirt from the drier, and thats when my face bell, there were red and blue blotches all about it’s once lovely and pure cloth. It was ruined. I remembered at that moment, stuffing my two fountain pens in my pocket during math class…instead of in my purse as usual.
bleach stains one clothes in those tv commercials where they pour the cleanig stuff on stains and they magically disappear
my fingers are covered in ink blotches from school, and blotch sounds very good. Hopscotch rhymes with blotch. Blotches and watches and lots of small scotches.
The blotches on the table cloth told me the family had enjoyed a good meal. I wish I’d arrived sooner. If I hadn’t been stuck with the fisherman on the beach I might have made have made it on time for the second course. As it was I’d have to be content with the strong smell of bacalau in my nostrils instead of the food-coma bliss of pasta, wine, and espresso.
Blotches on my soul. Blotches like bruises, marks of pain. Where punches have hit and left their stains. Blotches on my face from the paths of tears. Blotches are notches of what I’ve endured.
There were blotches on my arm, big splotches. The ivy got me, entangled me in its leafy evil. I was lost in the nature, spying on a bird, and the ivy got me. I wish I had listened to my mother. I wish I had followed her word. I wish that I had worn long sleeves.
Scratchy, messy splashes
Red and black and that weird bruise color
chunks of thread and pimples
Mistakes and happy accident
a memory,
a tragedy,
a little lump of tissue
blotches are the most awful thing. For instance, when you lie on the bed and lean on your hand, you end up with a huge, red, palm-shaped blotch on your face. I don’t really get them much, but my mother suffers with a blotchy nose.
of sunlight peeking through the leaves, making patterns of light and dark on the ground. the wind blows, the blotches sway and take on a life of their own.
Blotches is not a very nice word. It alludes to pimples, scars, just plain weird stuff on your face or body. If I called my freckles blotches that wouldn’t be a very nice word to call them. Some people call them angel kisses. I prefer to call them that. If I had blotches on my face, though, I’d hang my head high. I always do. If you have blotches, don’t worry, I like you!
There is not a person on this planet that can look in the mirror and not see a mistake. We are born to reflect poorly on ourselves. Specifically, I think everyone has hair somewhere on their body that they wish was not there. We try to hide these blotches physically, but can never remove them mentally.
They covered her skin like a map of hurt and pain and memories she wish she could wipe from her mind. They were all of varying colors, pinks and red and blues, and the occasional yellows and greens, though those were usually covered by new ones. She got used to the pain, the pulling and pushing and hurting sensations that sent her nerves screaming and raging towards the brain whenever she moved.
Blotches on your face, they are red and spread across your neck and your skin, but it is not ugly. It is beautiful because you are beautiful. Blotches, they aren’t so bad. They make me think of the sky as the sun sets. Why do they have be skin blotches? They can be blotches of paint. Of life on paper.
They are so annoying when they are on your pants, like a stain blotch. I see blotches of clouds in the sky. Blotches remind me of splotches of paint in a painting or on a wall.
*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*
She woke up groggy and dry-mouthed. A slowly accelerating whirl of images from the night before fell through her mind as she tried to open her eyes. All of them were of a common tack: bright, white smiles, low-cut shirts, and rocks-glasses to spare. She sat up, brushing them aside and stumbled to the bathroom. The fluorescent light above the mirror did nothing to soften the bags under her eyes or the blotches on her skin. She sighed.
It was a good night!
When I first read this, I thought it said “biotches.” That would have been a fun word to write about. After I was done laughing, I realized how ugly the word blotches sounds.
some type of flowers that smell a lot, and are used in not very popular food, also are the symbol of a bad ended old love
I looked down at my arms and cringed in disgust. He had beaten me again. For nothing. It was never for anything. My arms were covered in horrid, red and purple blotches. I didn’t let the tears fall. Not again. I stood up and walked to my closet. I slid on a hoodie and my jeans. I walked out to the car, got in and drove away from this life.
face blotches. rain blotches. splotches? sounds fat and unpleasant, like being bloated. is there a pretty side to blotches? blotches of sun? sun blotches? acne? no, that’s not nice. what a world.
Blotches of red spewed across the floor like tiny beads of lifelessness.
The paper was covered in several in blotches. It was as if the beautiful Fountain pen had come down with a case of stomach flu and puked all over the manuscript. However, it was the fault of the writer, to create the blotches. The writer had simply just decided to take his anger out on the paper and this was the result.
There are blotches on my face. From geology. I hate it, seriously. I don’t care how far I am from an earthquake. I’m more focused on the earthquake itself. Bad attitude, that’s what that is. It’s the truth though, maybe more true than the science behind it all. My poor attitude.
There are blotches of ink all over my paper. The exploding ink created blotches of things that I recognize: a tree,
blotches of tomato soup on her shirt looked like stained blood, she suddenly realized. What will the kids think ??
The blotches on her face are hideous, a teen’s worst nightmare. The cream doesn’t help at all. She can’t possibly go out like this. FaceBook status update: “FML. D:”
It was the blotches on his hands that he couldn’t hide.
The expensive suit, the revamped vocabulary and the high-priced education – but when you looked at his hands, the blotches gave him away as a blue-color guy made good.
He hated it and wore gloves wore gloves whenever he could get away with it socially. But the blotches remained.
His past. It defined him.
There are blotches all over. They are on walls. In the sky. On men’s souls. Blotches of ink, of blood, of thought. Blotches are a part of the fabric of life.
are red and often considered to be a sign of unsightly skin problems. They often are accompanied by itchiness and can be treated or covered through the use of lotion and/or make-up. Doctors will often see blotches in areas of treatment in a typical pediatric setting.
Blotches of purple on his arms and a cigarette in his mouth (it’s unlit). Smoke everywhere, it’s getting in my eyes and I can’t see anything but spots of colors; like the purple blotches on his arms, which he got fighting for the honor of someone he once knew. He’s kind, but not really bright.
I have this blotch on my newest notepad and it’s driving me crazy. I prefer to write on clean paper because I want it to be well preserved after I die… I guess it’s okay though, because it’ll look super authentic and vintage by the time I’m 60, right? right.
I’m lucky, I have clear skin, not blotchy. I hate blotchy red skin. My twin often gets it because her skin is so sensitive. Like a little flower. But can blotches be pretty? Maybe on a tie-dye skirt or t shirt. Hippyish. Like flowers in the hair, or long plaits!
blotches, staines, all the same
when people get them sometimes it gets really ugly
for once i known a gilr, who got a designer dress on when she was walking to her work
she ran in to some guy with a hotdog in his hand… they are now happilly maried :D