Hearing what there is here and there and in the caves. The echoes off walls, vibrations, buzzes, touches, scratches, tips. There’s everything to hear.
eeepa
When I hear something I usually don’t. I spend most of my time thinking about what
Derek J. Davis
I hear my parents.
Hearing good music.
Hearing my mom waking me up in the morning.
Hearing good advice.
Hearing angels.
Hearing the teachers teach.
Hearing someone say they love you.
Hearing the birds sing in the morning.
KevieLui
The darkness consumed her as she sat there not only hearing but also listening to her girlfriends screams. Guilt filled her body but what was she supposed to do? How could she protect her? She was already beaten half to death and, soon, her girlfriend would be too.
You start to hear the nuances of the language after a few months. The tones and lilts hat previously evaded you come to light and you are entered into a new realm of comprehension. All you have to do is listen and what didn’t appeal becomes familiar.
MB
out of earshot they sit
cradled within eachother’s arms
rain falls in curtains
a fire crackles and snaps
but that warmth isn’t what they feel
Sometimes I like to pretend that I don’t remember how your voice sounds, or how many seconds it takes for you to inhale my love and exhale it like poison dripping out of your mouth. I like to pretend that I don’t remember anything, nothing at all. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. It only takes one sound to remind me, a constant nightmare as I blink, with you looking into my eyes and asking, “do you miss me?”
“I have a minimal hearing loss,” said Gary, hanging his head in shame. “That’s why I talk so funny.”
He didn’t talk that funny. I knew him from Mrs. Lowe’s second grade class and all he did was spit a bit when he said s’s. I knew when I talked to him, he’d have to ask me to repeat myself because he couldn’t hear me right. But I never minded. Not even five years later.
Belinda Roddie
What?
Sorry, couldn’t resist.
Michael
I am deaf to every word he speaks, every pretty lie that falls from his lips. I refuse to listen any longer.
She sat on the bench…piano book in hand… listening to the intertwining streams of piano music float out the windows of the university. Many students had picked the same pieces as her for the exam and hearing them play all at the same time made them all sound perfect. She wondered if life was like that…everyone else seemed to have it all together…while she continually made stupid mistakes. She looked at her piano book. Took a deep breath and played the exam anyway much to the amusement of the examiner.
I couldn’t hear them. The screams grew louder as arms held me back. I screamed the familiar voice of the smiling boy now covered in blood on the street…wrapped. Why? Why him? Why
!?
when hearing different conversations, all types of things are said. Things that you may never want to hear as well as things that you may want to hear. When hearing words of people, it could be wisdom or it could be ignorance. Hearing is something that should be paid close attention to.
De'Onna
Olivia remembered the hearing, a day before. Before the accident. Her sister had sat there on the sidelines, watching Olivia. It was her day to be a witness, but she almost told the secret. Almost. Olivia had to stop that from happening. Hearings. There would be more of them, this Olivia knew. There always were.
The opposite of Deaf. To be able to enjoy music. Discriminatory against those who can not hear. Not-necessarily normal. Symphony. Joy. Love. Vibration. Ear. Cochlear Implant. August Rush. Bands. Rock. Leaves in the wind. Reggae. Jazz.
Paul
what’s hearing the girl asked her mom. I don’t know maybe you should just listen. so the girl listened and looked out her window. she heard the trees outside and the wind blowing through the grass. she heard her dogs barking and her brothers beating the shit out of each other.
Throughout my mind I am constantly hearing the outside world when I should just be listening to my self.
julian
He only heard the soft flutter of wings on the breeze, and there he was, next to him, leaning into his touch and breathing against his neck. He missed that feeling, so much. That warm hear against his skin and the beat of his heart against his back.
She looked up at the steel grey sky and let the rain run off her upturned face. Once upon a time she hated the sound of the rain drumming on the roof because it meant time trapped in the confines of the house or a bold dash to the car with soggy shoes and umbrellas that dripped and poked your eye out. Now she would do anything to hear the rain fall hard as it bounced off the pavement or off the roof of the car. Instead she was trapped in the confines of a soundless world and the constrant dizzy thrum of nothingness.
Hearing. What I am hearing right now, is my dad playing the piano. It’s a sound I have always loved and find comforting. He is incredible. I spent a long time trying to play like him, but that was stupid. Now I love to play like me.
Roxy
Hearing everything for it truly is. Why is that so hard? Why is it so hard to listen, and take every single word into account. And take it as the truth.
Simply, it’s difficult.
The truth can be impossible to bear.
Sometimes we lie to ourselves to bring comfort to our shelter.
But then we are falsely led by our own ears.
And the only way to realize the truth
Is to acquire the ability of hearing.
i heard the noise. loud. powerful.
the car crashing into the bay.
the crash of the window as I broke it, the crash of the water as it poured into the car and I swam towards the light.
bubbles racing beside me. hearing my head break the surface and the bridge crashing down around me.
Elliot
Hearing French is like listening to a million butterflies flap their wings. Mon Ami D’en Haut<3
I think I’m dying of this cough. I keep hearing myself – it sounds almost far away, like I’m in another room, or a distant land, but I can FEEL it – and it hurts. It’s painful the way second degree pain is painful – you feel it and then you realize what it is, and then it hurts. Like touching something hot after your hand has been frozen. Or vice versa. You start wondering what’s going on with you. If you’re broken. But really, it’s only allergy season.
I’m becoming hard of hearing. All the swarming helicopters, I think it is, but even more so when they’re taking off. So close to my ears. My fingers fist into my trousers, gripping tight, resisting with great strength the urge to press over my ears, tips of fingers digging into the tight curls. My knees feel weak, collapsing is a definite possibility. But the sounds grow fainter with the passing time. I’m becoming hard of hearing.
NJ Lee
Hearing voices makes you, well you.
Hearing music makes you love
And hearing the sun blaze makes and takes you
Beyond and above
Diamond
I have the best hearing out of the three of us. My gift of singing has also given me this great ability. So I can hear him when he comes to my room, late in the night. Nathaniel never sleeps, so it’s the perfect time for him to visit me. Or so he thinks. But what he doesn’t know is that I can hear him coming, and I always wake up. And I sit there, wishing that he would just come into my room. But he never does.
The sound of his footsteps as they retreat hurt my ears the most.
I can hear the water running in the kitchen as he scrubs his hands, a red pepper, an apple taken from the bag in the crisper.
L.V.Newc
Hearing is a blessing, but it is also a curse. When one hears the sweet song of a bird it’s hard to imagine what it would be like without ears. One couldn’t even comprehend a day without sound. Yet, the curse hearing brings can be worse than any gift sound has to offer. To hear the inconsolable wail of a mother who has lost everything brings grief beyond comprehension. Sometimes hearing is something we never want to do again.
DreamerGirl
Listen to me…kiss my lips because I’m not hearing what your saying. Just kiss me.
I am hearing you but I’m not at the same time. You are here and there, but you are actually nowhere in sight. I am left in the sudden strokes of the sun’s rays watching the clouds glide by in the atmosphere.
Hearing. Seeing. Touching. Feeling. Just being. I want to be in the moment. I want to hear your voice and for you to instantly see my smile. For you to know how very happy I feel when you touch my hand. Even the simplest of accidental brushes. I’d do anything to be back in any moment I spent with you.
lauren
I saw a video once of a little boy who had gotten a cochlear implant and was hearing his mother’s voice for the first time. It was a pretty amazing video, actually, and it made me wonder about being able to remember such a revolutionary thing as beginning to hear.
i can see and feel and tell from afar but i’m glassed in i’m lost and distant even though i stand right here i’m broken and cannot hear you speak i need you i want you but what good are you to me if i can’t hear your voice
After heaving up several palmfuls of relatively normal stomach contents and then stumbling upon an out, this person looks at yuu and you look at them and it all becomes spactacularly clear that this evening is not about regurgitation of tuna sandwich lunches–it’s about finding black silence in a back alley with a stranger and listening to this person’s ideas about everything they’ve ever seen. No, this isn’t about hearing this person’s voice; it’s about using three brain fingers to scoop up the syllables they speak and stuffing them to your middle ear in vibrating rhythms. It’s about listening to strangers.
I didn’t realize his voice was such an interesting timbre. I had only ever heard it while looking directly at him and trying to dissect every portion of his body and eyes and words. It was separate like this, and much more interesting. Another tick to add to the ongoing list. I guess I wasn’t ready to think of him as conventionally attractive.
“I’m not hearing what you’re saying,” he said.
“I think I’m making it pretty clear,” I responded with a glare.
“What? No!” he said, raising his voice, “I actually can’t hear you! What is that noise?”
Once I focused I heard it too. And once I heard it, it was indeed very distracting.
Hearing what there is here and there and in the caves. The echoes off walls, vibrations, buzzes, touches, scratches, tips. There’s everything to hear.
When I hear something I usually don’t. I spend most of my time thinking about what
I hear my parents.
Hearing good music.
Hearing my mom waking me up in the morning.
Hearing good advice.
Hearing angels.
Hearing the teachers teach.
Hearing someone say they love you.
Hearing the birds sing in the morning.
The darkness consumed her as she sat there not only hearing but also listening to her girlfriends screams. Guilt filled her body but what was she supposed to do? How could she protect her? She was already beaten half to death and, soon, her girlfriend would be too.
You start to hear the nuances of the language after a few months. The tones and lilts hat previously evaded you come to light and you are entered into a new realm of comprehension. All you have to do is listen and what didn’t appeal becomes familiar.
out of earshot they sit
cradled within eachother’s arms
rain falls in curtains
a fire crackles and snaps
but that warmth isn’t what they feel
Sometimes I like to pretend that I don’t remember how your voice sounds, or how many seconds it takes for you to inhale my love and exhale it like poison dripping out of your mouth. I like to pretend that I don’t remember anything, nothing at all. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. It only takes one sound to remind me, a constant nightmare as I blink, with you looking into my eyes and asking, “do you miss me?”
“I have a minimal hearing loss,” said Gary, hanging his head in shame. “That’s why I talk so funny.”
He didn’t talk that funny. I knew him from Mrs. Lowe’s second grade class and all he did was spit a bit when he said s’s. I knew when I talked to him, he’d have to ask me to repeat myself because he couldn’t hear me right. But I never minded. Not even five years later.
What?
Sorry, couldn’t resist.
I am deaf to every word he speaks, every pretty lie that falls from his lips. I refuse to listen any longer.
She sat on the bench…piano book in hand… listening to the intertwining streams of piano music float out the windows of the university. Many students had picked the same pieces as her for the exam and hearing them play all at the same time made them all sound perfect. She wondered if life was like that…everyone else seemed to have it all together…while she continually made stupid mistakes. She looked at her piano book. Took a deep breath and played the exam anyway much to the amusement of the examiner.
I couldn’t hear them. The screams grew louder as arms held me back. I screamed the familiar voice of the smiling boy now covered in blood on the street…wrapped. Why? Why him? Why
!?
The rain outside my window reminds me of our night out in the park. It echoes the pitter patter of my heartbeat.
when hearing different conversations, all types of things are said. Things that you may never want to hear as well as things that you may want to hear. When hearing words of people, it could be wisdom or it could be ignorance. Hearing is something that should be paid close attention to.
Olivia remembered the hearing, a day before. Before the accident. Her sister had sat there on the sidelines, watching Olivia. It was her day to be a witness, but she almost told the secret. Almost. Olivia had to stop that from happening. Hearings. There would be more of them, this Olivia knew. There always were.
The opposite of Deaf. To be able to enjoy music. Discriminatory against those who can not hear. Not-necessarily normal. Symphony. Joy. Love. Vibration. Ear. Cochlear Implant. August Rush. Bands. Rock. Leaves in the wind. Reggae. Jazz.
what’s hearing the girl asked her mom. I don’t know maybe you should just listen. so the girl listened and looked out her window. she heard the trees outside and the wind blowing through the grass. she heard her dogs barking and her brothers beating the shit out of each other.
Throughout my mind I am constantly hearing the outside world when I should just be listening to my self.
He only heard the soft flutter of wings on the breeze, and there he was, next to him, leaning into his touch and breathing against his neck. He missed that feeling, so much. That warm hear against his skin and the beat of his heart against his back.
She looked up at the steel grey sky and let the rain run off her upturned face. Once upon a time she hated the sound of the rain drumming on the roof because it meant time trapped in the confines of the house or a bold dash to the car with soggy shoes and umbrellas that dripped and poked your eye out. Now she would do anything to hear the rain fall hard as it bounced off the pavement or off the roof of the car. Instead she was trapped in the confines of a soundless world and the constrant dizzy thrum of nothingness.
Hearing. What I am hearing right now, is my dad playing the piano. It’s a sound I have always loved and find comforting. He is incredible. I spent a long time trying to play like him, but that was stupid. Now I love to play like me.
Hearing everything for it truly is. Why is that so hard? Why is it so hard to listen, and take every single word into account. And take it as the truth.
Simply, it’s difficult.
The truth can be impossible to bear.
Sometimes we lie to ourselves to bring comfort to our shelter.
But then we are falsely led by our own ears.
And the only way to realize the truth
Is to acquire the ability of hearing.
i heard the noise. loud. powerful.
the car crashing into the bay.
the crash of the window as I broke it, the crash of the water as it poured into the car and I swam towards the light.
bubbles racing beside me. hearing my head break the surface and the bridge crashing down around me.
Hearing French is like listening to a million butterflies flap their wings. Mon Ami D’en Haut<3
I think I’m dying of this cough. I keep hearing myself – it sounds almost far away, like I’m in another room, or a distant land, but I can FEEL it – and it hurts. It’s painful the way second degree pain is painful – you feel it and then you realize what it is, and then it hurts. Like touching something hot after your hand has been frozen. Or vice versa. You start wondering what’s going on with you. If you’re broken. But really, it’s only allergy season.
i am hearing a chicken from outside and it is a big one wow i can also hear a catapiller, it is weird it is a weirdo
I’m becoming hard of hearing. All the swarming helicopters, I think it is, but even more so when they’re taking off. So close to my ears. My fingers fist into my trousers, gripping tight, resisting with great strength the urge to press over my ears, tips of fingers digging into the tight curls. My knees feel weak, collapsing is a definite possibility. But the sounds grow fainter with the passing time. I’m becoming hard of hearing.
Hearing voices makes you, well you.
Hearing music makes you love
And hearing the sun blaze makes and takes you
Beyond and above
I have the best hearing out of the three of us. My gift of singing has also given me this great ability. So I can hear him when he comes to my room, late in the night. Nathaniel never sleeps, so it’s the perfect time for him to visit me. Or so he thinks. But what he doesn’t know is that I can hear him coming, and I always wake up. And I sit there, wishing that he would just come into my room. But he never does.
The sound of his footsteps as they retreat hurt my ears the most.
I can hear the water running in the kitchen as he scrubs his hands, a red pepper, an apple taken from the bag in the crisper.
Hearing is a blessing, but it is also a curse. When one hears the sweet song of a bird it’s hard to imagine what it would be like without ears. One couldn’t even comprehend a day without sound. Yet, the curse hearing brings can be worse than any gift sound has to offer. To hear the inconsolable wail of a mother who has lost everything brings grief beyond comprehension. Sometimes hearing is something we never want to do again.
Listen to me…kiss my lips because I’m not hearing what your saying. Just kiss me.
I am hearing you but I’m not at the same time. You are here and there, but you are actually nowhere in sight. I am left in the sudden strokes of the sun’s rays watching the clouds glide by in the atmosphere.
Hearing. Seeing. Touching. Feeling. Just being. I want to be in the moment. I want to hear your voice and for you to instantly see my smile. For you to know how very happy I feel when you touch my hand. Even the simplest of accidental brushes. I’d do anything to be back in any moment I spent with you.
I saw a video once of a little boy who had gotten a cochlear implant and was hearing his mother’s voice for the first time. It was a pretty amazing video, actually, and it made me wonder about being able to remember such a revolutionary thing as beginning to hear.
i can see and feel and tell from afar but i’m glassed in i’m lost and distant even though i stand right here i’m broken and cannot hear you speak i need you i want you but what good are you to me if i can’t hear your voice
“So class, can anyone tell my why the Titanic sank?” said the teacher.
Melody raised her hand and stood up. “Because the Doctor didn’t save it. But you don’t know about the Doctor because you’re stupid.”
The teacher couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“Melody, go to the head teacher! Now!”
After heaving up several palmfuls of relatively normal stomach contents and then stumbling upon an out, this person looks at yuu and you look at them and it all becomes spactacularly clear that this evening is not about regurgitation of tuna sandwich lunches–it’s about finding black silence in a back alley with a stranger and listening to this person’s ideas about everything they’ve ever seen. No, this isn’t about hearing this person’s voice; it’s about using three brain fingers to scoop up the syllables they speak and stuffing them to your middle ear in vibrating rhythms. It’s about listening to strangers.
I didn’t realize his voice was such an interesting timbre. I had only ever heard it while looking directly at him and trying to dissect every portion of his body and eyes and words. It was separate like this, and much more interesting. Another tick to add to the ongoing list. I guess I wasn’t ready to think of him as conventionally attractive.
“I’m not hearing what you’re saying,” he said.
“I think I’m making it pretty clear,” I responded with a glare.
“What? No!” he said, raising his voice, “I actually can’t hear you! What is that noise?”
Once I focused I heard it too. And once I heard it, it was indeed very distracting.