It all hinges on this moment. It’s a clear choice, a chance and it’s up to whether or not Sean has the balls to take it. He can be afraid but in that fear it can drive him to leap. He can go for what he wants despite the variables. He got into music for that very same reason. Ryan should be no different.
I hate it.
Always saying this and that.
Telling me what to do with my life.
Oh…I have a life alright.
I can desribe it using one word…
Music…
Music will always be part of my life,
Or I could say, is my
Life
christine
The hinge was not attached very well to the door, though it clung to the jamb with a peculiarly strong will. The door hung loose there, waiting for just the right moment to fall all the way off. They’d tried to fix it, but there wasn’t enough real wood left to hold it. So they treated it gingerly, as they did the topic of Granddad’s drinking.
Kathleen Gabriel
The hinge is broken.
The door hangs lopsided
Like a shutter of a Haunted House.
I can still hear the slam of the door,
The hysteria of raised voices,
And the shattering of glass.
The hinge is broken,
And you’re not here
To fix it.
I feel like im a door hanging from a single hinge. I feel im about to unhinge. onec this happens i will fall. Will I be able to be ficxed once agaifn? is that even possible. Who can screw m e back in place? (in both senses of the word.)
it all hinges on this. determination or none. doorhinge is the only thing that rhymes with orange, you know? didn’t think it was possible, huh? i don’t think determination is possible. will i make it? go far? do what needs to be done?
that takes willpower. don’t know if i have that.
MJ
The hinges on the door were rusted. But that was how they had always been. Even since the Hayles had moved into the house, the hinges would scrape and rust would fleck off. It was a wonder how they became that way. Sure the house was very old – it was remodeled, but old still. The hinges had been the only things that had not been changed. For historical value, possibly. Or for aesthetic value.
The hinge of the gate was rusted and tarnished, the wooden squeedked as it the getle wind blew it back and forht. Although it was a scary sound I found it oddly soothing.
Yvonne Smith
it’s in everywhere. i don’t know what to say, but a like the gold ones. ok, seems fine for me.
hinge. there’s one thing that controls where we end up, it could be one decision, one person, one class, one relationship, whatever. It chooses whether our life swings one way or the other. and it makes me think of open doors. we can choose to shut people out, or leave the door wide open.
J
A door, can never be fully removed from it’s frame.
The hinge keeps it locked there, allowing it only to move a certain extent, without being harmed.
I am tired of being a door, and you my hinge.
Just let me go.
Why can’t I just let go.
Madeleine Silvers
these people live on hinges. swinging one way and then another. they cannot move, they only watch and swing and wait to die
but then again they never have to touch– holding hands, smoothing hair, the weight of heads on shoulders, they don’t know these things and they don’t know what they’re missing
and they never get hurt because they never get closer than across the hallways
they’ve forgotten how to speak, they envy me because
i have arms and legs, i have hips and fingers
i can move– but–
i cannot move i cannot speak because i want to die
i am in so much pain and they do not know what pain is, and so i envy them
they call from across hallways
i sink into floors and melt across tables
i need hinges to keep me from falling apart
i am
swinging back and forth
a door frame hidden from view. moving left to right. a comparison between the light and dark. a constant turning, moving striving to be in the next space. swingining back and forth between two worlds. like the swing next door always moving in the wind. waiting for someone to sit and take the journey too. always waiting, moving and hoping.
erica
a screeching sound like nails on a chalkboard as I wonder around, plotting my next move.
thegirlyoullneverknow
the door swung open and opened my eyes to see and my hands to take the ring off my right hand and ask a man a question.
He just lay there, peaceful. By now we knew he was gone. Gone from us, gone forever. At this I jumped up, head throbbing and nauseous. All I wanted was a shower. I didn’t want to speak, it felt as if my jaw was held by a tight hinge anyways, I didn’t want to eat. I just wanted to hug him and apologize. Apologize for being so bad to him, for never giving him enough attention, for everything. “He was a good dog,” Ryan sad. He was.
The door needs the hinge, to be a working door. But the door doesn’t know it needs the hinge, and the hinge doesn’t know the door is depending on it.
Jazz
Im on the hinge of the doorknob
Waiting to swin open
I see a path in front of me
Yet I am hesitant to take it
Im on the hinge of life
What is past the door is what
Life has for me next
Im waiting for it to open once more
To set me free
I hated being in the middle of everything. They always made me the one to make the decisions. Choose between them; that’s what they wanted me to do. LIke a door hinge. I had to be the one to pick which way to go. I was sick of it.
Brittany
Faith rests,
pauses,
switches back
limits described by a stop
by a lack of perfect motion
so much depends
so much
red wheel barrows for all
She never oiled it. It was a loud welcome home siren, which gave her just enough time to shove him out the bedroom window and put on her good wife clothes.
The hinge clatters to the floor, a moment after the resounding thud of the old door. Charlie starts chuckling. “That’s weird.” He picks it up, eyes it for a moment, and then throws it out the window. They hear it make a sharp noise as it contacts with Darla’s car roof.
“So I’m thinking about moving out of here,” he says. “Without you.”
The hinges on the door are old and brass and they know they could break the door down with one well-placed kick but they’re almost too nice to destroy, so they ease them open laughing and tumble onto the bed and the door swings, swings, swings on those rusty things high on the third floor of a building too old to hold them and they know it’s haunted, but the ghosts can wait.
askance
The hinge on that damn kitchen cabinet. Every time I hear that cringing shriek I want to rip the door off and throw it across the room.
And yet.
You built it, so it remains.
Emily
I stared at the hinge. It hung open. I was unsure why to do next. Should I enter through the gate? What would I find when I got inside? One thing was sure. I could not ignore the creaking sounds from below. I had to see for myself.
Tami Beld
Careful not to upset the creaking hinges of the weather beaten door, he slipped into the darkened room beyond. His shadow danced on the far wall as the crept along stealthily, sometimes taking the shape of a man and sometimes elongating into that of something not quite human. He paused, listening for any sign of movement, then silently made his way over to where his quarry lay asleep.
unhinge me.
I am a joint, an elbow, a knee play.
Is Einstein happy on the beach?
I have often been described as ‘unhinged’,
but I think I’m just lacking the support.
blahblah1
broken off, I’m fallen. Holding pieces together. Nothing that can help me, I’m stuck here. I can’t do anything.
Rose
a thing to hold the door, help it open and close freely help to pivot
arvinder
a breaking point. about to fall into the depths. turning point. pintch
standish james
The squeaky hinge filled my soul with so much happiness. I never thought I could love that sound so much. It meant I was closer, I was finally going to be there. To reach into that cold place, so familiar to my senses. To finally, finally, FINALLY, FIIIINNNAAAALLLYYY…eat.
It’s funny, the way things are. Everything you know can depend on just one moment in time, that’s stuck and frozen and place. And then suddenly it melts and its gone. Everything is gone. Disappeared. Forever. Your life- everything about it -is just holding on. Hanging by a hinge.
Rani
I slammed the door shut, hearing it rattle on its hinges just added to my frustration. I can’t believe that she would leave me like that. I loved her, and he loved me. Or at least he said he did. I don’t even know what to think anymore…
NCISaddict
i like it so much built with a giant door and my filthy parents are watching my every move! help me you sons of bitches! I DONT GO TO COMMUNITY COLLEGE!! ITS ADULT HIGHSCHOOL EVERYONE HAS A DAMN SMOKING KID. girls are for men
james
I’m planning on a new kitchen but it all hinges on what my husband wants – he is becoming a total control freak! Think Iwill have to get rid of him – he has forgotten that he does nothing in kitchen and that it is my domain!!! pratt!!!!!
She became unhinged at the seems, both the visible and invisible ones. Life broke all around her in glass shards of pain and torment. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing made sense. It was all futile and she was torn apart, inch by inch.
It’s broken, hanging at an angle like someone has forced the door open with blunt force. The kind of force that suggests that someone wanted to get in quickly, viciously to whatever was on the other side. It doesn’t matter who did it. It doesn’t even matter when. What does matter to John is whether they got at the person on the other side. Did they get to them and hurt them?
It all hinges on this moment. It’s a clear choice, a chance and it’s up to whether or not Sean has the balls to take it. He can be afraid but in that fear it can drive him to leap. He can go for what he wants despite the variables. He got into music for that very same reason. Ryan should be no different.
My Life Only
By: Christine M. S.
I hate it.
Always saying this and that.
Telling me what to do with my life.
Oh…I have a life alright.
I can desribe it using one word…
Music…
Music will always be part of my life,
Or I could say, is my
Life
The hinge was not attached very well to the door, though it clung to the jamb with a peculiarly strong will. The door hung loose there, waiting for just the right moment to fall all the way off. They’d tried to fix it, but there wasn’t enough real wood left to hold it. So they treated it gingerly, as they did the topic of Granddad’s drinking.
The hinge is broken.
The door hangs lopsided
Like a shutter of a Haunted House.
I can still hear the slam of the door,
The hysteria of raised voices,
And the shattering of glass.
The hinge is broken,
And you’re not here
To fix it.
I feel like im a door hanging from a single hinge. I feel im about to unhinge. onec this happens i will fall. Will I be able to be ficxed once agaifn? is that even possible. Who can screw m e back in place? (in both senses of the word.)
it all hinges on this. determination or none. doorhinge is the only thing that rhymes with orange, you know? didn’t think it was possible, huh? i don’t think determination is possible. will i make it? go far? do what needs to be done?
that takes willpower. don’t know if i have that.
The hinges on the door were rusted. But that was how they had always been. Even since the Hayles had moved into the house, the hinges would scrape and rust would fleck off. It was a wonder how they became that way. Sure the house was very old – it was remodeled, but old still. The hinges had been the only things that had not been changed. For historical value, possibly. Or for aesthetic value.
The hinge of the gate was rusted and tarnished, the wooden squeedked as it the getle wind blew it back and forht. Although it was a scary sound I found it oddly soothing.
it’s in everywhere. i don’t know what to say, but a like the gold ones. ok, seems fine for me.
hinge. there’s one thing that controls where we end up, it could be one decision, one person, one class, one relationship, whatever. It chooses whether our life swings one way or the other. and it makes me think of open doors. we can choose to shut people out, or leave the door wide open.
A door, can never be fully removed from it’s frame.
The hinge keeps it locked there, allowing it only to move a certain extent, without being harmed.
I am tired of being a door, and you my hinge.
Just let me go.
Why can’t I just let go.
these people live on hinges. swinging one way and then another. they cannot move, they only watch and swing and wait to die
but then again they never have to touch– holding hands, smoothing hair, the weight of heads on shoulders, they don’t know these things and they don’t know what they’re missing
and they never get hurt because they never get closer than across the hallways
they’ve forgotten how to speak, they envy me because
i have arms and legs, i have hips and fingers
i can move– but–
i cannot move i cannot speak because i want to die
i am in so much pain and they do not know what pain is, and so i envy them
they call from across hallways
i sink into floors and melt across tables
i need hinges to keep me from falling apart
i am
swinging back and forth
a door frame hidden from view. moving left to right. a comparison between the light and dark. a constant turning, moving striving to be in the next space. swingining back and forth between two worlds. like the swing next door always moving in the wind. waiting for someone to sit and take the journey too. always waiting, moving and hoping.
a screeching sound like nails on a chalkboard as I wonder around, plotting my next move.
the door swung open and opened my eyes to see and my hands to take the ring off my right hand and ask a man a question.
He just lay there, peaceful. By now we knew he was gone. Gone from us, gone forever. At this I jumped up, head throbbing and nauseous. All I wanted was a shower. I didn’t want to speak, it felt as if my jaw was held by a tight hinge anyways, I didn’t want to eat. I just wanted to hug him and apologize. Apologize for being so bad to him, for never giving him enough attention, for everything. “He was a good dog,” Ryan sad. He was.
unhinge my mind. let it fall off the edge. is it for the better? who knows, but i like it better that way.
It all hinges on this one decision. But will she do the right thing?
The door needs the hinge, to be a working door. But the door doesn’t know it needs the hinge, and the hinge doesn’t know the door is depending on it.
Im on the hinge of the doorknob
Waiting to swin open
I see a path in front of me
Yet I am hesitant to take it
Im on the hinge of life
What is past the door is what
Life has for me next
Im waiting for it to open once more
To set me free
a gold one, please, to match with the others
I hated being in the middle of everything. They always made me the one to make the decisions. Choose between them; that’s what they wanted me to do. LIke a door hinge. I had to be the one to pick which way to go. I was sick of it.
Faith rests,
pauses,
switches back
limits described by a stop
by a lack of perfect motion
so much depends
so much
red wheel barrows for all
She never oiled it. It was a loud welcome home siren, which gave her just enough time to shove him out the bedroom window and put on her good wife clothes.
The hinge clatters to the floor, a moment after the resounding thud of the old door. Charlie starts chuckling. “That’s weird.” He picks it up, eyes it for a moment, and then throws it out the window. They hear it make a sharp noise as it contacts with Darla’s car roof.
“So I’m thinking about moving out of here,” he says. “Without you.”
The hinges on the door are old and brass and they know they could break the door down with one well-placed kick but they’re almost too nice to destroy, so they ease them open laughing and tumble onto the bed and the door swings, swings, swings on those rusty things high on the third floor of a building too old to hold them and they know it’s haunted, but the ghosts can wait.
The hinge on that damn kitchen cabinet. Every time I hear that cringing shriek I want to rip the door off and throw it across the room.
And yet.
You built it, so it remains.
I stared at the hinge. It hung open. I was unsure why to do next. Should I enter through the gate? What would I find when I got inside? One thing was sure. I could not ignore the creaking sounds from below. I had to see for myself.
Careful not to upset the creaking hinges of the weather beaten door, he slipped into the darkened room beyond. His shadow danced on the far wall as the crept along stealthily, sometimes taking the shape of a man and sometimes elongating into that of something not quite human. He paused, listening for any sign of movement, then silently made his way over to where his quarry lay asleep.
unhinge me.
I am a joint, an elbow, a knee play.
Is Einstein happy on the beach?
I have often been described as ‘unhinged’,
but I think I’m just lacking the support.
broken off, I’m fallen. Holding pieces together. Nothing that can help me, I’m stuck here. I can’t do anything.
a thing to hold the door, help it open and close freely help to pivot
a breaking point. about to fall into the depths. turning point. pintch
The squeaky hinge filled my soul with so much happiness. I never thought I could love that sound so much. It meant I was closer, I was finally going to be there. To reach into that cold place, so familiar to my senses. To finally, finally, FINALLY, FIIIINNNAAAALLLYYY…eat.
It’s funny, the way things are. Everything you know can depend on just one moment in time, that’s stuck and frozen and place. And then suddenly it melts and its gone. Everything is gone. Disappeared. Forever. Your life- everything about it -is just holding on. Hanging by a hinge.
I slammed the door shut, hearing it rattle on its hinges just added to my frustration. I can’t believe that she would leave me like that. I loved her, and he loved me. Or at least he said he did. I don’t even know what to think anymore…
i like it so much built with a giant door and my filthy parents are watching my every move! help me you sons of bitches! I DONT GO TO COMMUNITY COLLEGE!! ITS ADULT HIGHSCHOOL EVERYONE HAS A DAMN SMOKING KID. girls are for men
I’m planning on a new kitchen but it all hinges on what my husband wants – he is becoming a total control freak! Think Iwill have to get rid of him – he has forgotten that he does nothing in kitchen and that it is my domain!!! pratt!!!!!
She became unhinged at the seems, both the visible and invisible ones. Life broke all around her in glass shards of pain and torment. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing made sense. It was all futile and she was torn apart, inch by inch.
It’s broken, hanging at an angle like someone has forced the door open with blunt force. The kind of force that suggests that someone wanted to get in quickly, viciously to whatever was on the other side. It doesn’t matter who did it. It doesn’t even matter when. What does matter to John is whether they got at the person on the other side. Did they get to them and hurt them?