This object doesn’t fit in your hand. This object really doesn’t even have a shape. This object isn’t within your grasp, or ever in plain sight. Where do you find an object that has no origin?
CEC
an object is anything that can be objectified, like an apple, a flying saucer a tamborine. i would like to play tamboirnes the musical jingles blasting through the air enthralls a vision of happiness and tikmes better had. if there were no objects there would be no imagination
nick lawson
An object can create an identity, as well as take it away. For the Jews, objects were what separated them from the beasts-those in concentration camps-yet was ultimately what they too would become. It is unfair? Absolutely. Is it a reality? Undoubtedly.
kate
Are you the object of my affect?
Abject of all I recollect?
I know now not, but soon shall see
Solutions such as evade me.
Should I object the search effect,
Would all terms alter all?
Or would instead my spinning head
Allow the well owed fall?
maybe i am just an object for him. like any other fun object. something you can keep, you can give away.
maybe they are objects for me.
maybe true love never exists.
An object is an amazing concept. it can be created, it can be observed, it can be destroyed, it can be visualized, and the list goes on. an object to me is limited to the confines of my imagination. IT can can quite literally be anything you want it to be. And yet, it does not define life. no aspect of life can be considered an object. Instead, life is an experience, and emotion really. not something inanimate as an object. That is what makes life beautiful. It is ever changing, and ever progressing. unlike an object that will remain constant for eternity until life goes about and changes it.
Harry
It was an object of passion which lost the glory, with each moment that passed by…
Jayakumar K
i have six fingers
sticking to the silence
between your ribs.
there are words for this
but i do not want
to know them
ten years ago you said that a human
was more than an object
but here, with a cloth squeezed
between these four fingers
not touching the object
that you’ve become
i find i cannot
agree.
Lili Leader
An object was sitting in a room. It had an obscure shape, one with no real definition. It was sharp and dark, sitting in a shadow with only its silouette visible. The object was more precious than anything I previously owned.
Kathryn
I have spent my days
longing for the open wind—
For a time when
I will no longer be
an object.
But time passes me by,
as clouds rolling overhead.
Time cannot be grasped;
Its sand leaves my hand,
carried on the breeze.
Now I’ve come to realize:
I will always be
an object.
So I choose to be a kite string,
slipping through someone’s fingers,
ascending to the open sky.
the object of my affection
sitting across the room
looking away at the sky
not knowing i stare openly
i am here and he is far away
dreaming of someone else
can i sit and cry at the stars
knowing he will never see me
loving him with my sad eyes
he the object of all the attention
seeing them all and ignoring mine
a heart without love is not a heart
his is there glimpses rendered immortal
i walk away letting them take his hands
silently i grieve my solitary existence
step by step leading to the object of hate
Object leads to objections and objectivity which is an art of relating the environment with the knowledge of physical products present as our mind is limited to the picturesque view of the world.
Anupam Katyal
…to the way others treat you when they wish they’d treated themselves better. Object to the things people say that they wish someone had never said to them. Object to the things you’ll do only because you wish you’d done something else and one day there was nothing else left. Object to everything that could have been better or could have meant more.
Ettie
object is a word we can understand in two ways. object is a thing, something materialized we can grab hold of. It is also one of the most important or should i say well known sayings/words in the practice of law. With “I object” we depict our non-agreement with the lawyer or party of the opposite opinion.
rok
we are possessed by this word than nearly no one thinks about. Object, and object, a load of objects, they are the things we want, and think we need. We buy buy buy. To gain more objects. Even when we don’t need them
Lydia
To her I am:
A chair.
A lamp.
A convenient store.
A couch.
A blanket.
A mistake.
An accomplishment.
A friend.
An enemy.
Family.
A stranger.
I am everything but what I want to be to her. I am everything and more.
She stared at the sleek red paperweight
Why
She wondered
Would anyone ever purchase
Such
A ridiculous thing?
Chelsea
Everything has its own purpose. One thing may be to make you happy, one may be for the temporary fulfillment that consumes us so often. But we must realize, everything is just an object, not life.
Folly’s object is to objectify that which could never
be.
Each object falls off of me leaving me
naked,
exposed,
forever myself.
In these objects we place
ourselves,
riddled with fear,
and then we wonder,
“When the dust of our objects is blown away,
will anything
remain?”
Objects are everything around us. They make up the world we live in and make it what it is. Think of all the things in your life. All of the OBJECTS that you need? That’s right. The word is more powerful than you once thought. We’re all just objects in someone else’s world.
Adrien Blanchard
I looked down at the object glistening with fresh blood in my hand.
I still don’t rightly know what it was, maybe a paperweight of some kind. All I know is one second he was raising his hand, prepared to strike, and then my love was on the ground. Still and dead, blood flowing from the wound on his temple.
He shouldn’t have hit me.
an object is something that you can feel, something that’s there. Sometime’s it’s desired, others, despised. It often is what we as humans let define us, though it shouldn’t be so.
rya
There are objects everywhere. Some hold purpose and some hold no purpose at all. Not everyone sees the an object the same way as someone else. Some objects hold sentimental value to one person and mean nothing to others. It’s all about how you view something that makes it special. Objects can be special depending on the person who views it.
Victoria
She couldn’t object.
His hands were like clamps. They were sweaty, hot. Crisp against her olive skin. Like irons, they steamed and flattened her body against that rotting oak tree. The screams were laughter in his ears. Bells. Just instrumentals to the pleasured task he breathed. The girl was underneath his bulbous weight and could not snake her joints from the fat that compressed her already watered-down entrails. His sweat and her tears mingled like old friends.
Old friends. That’s what they had been. He was the fat boy, the awkward. She was the pretty girl, the tender fawn who was nice enough to lend him a hand in friendship. The only one. If only she had known. If she had only seen the hunger in his eyes whenever she looked away. But he was always looking. Always lusting. The girl was as loving as she had always been, a Snow White and a Huntsman. But this boy was not eating her alive for someone else. His pleasure was all for him. Back and forth he cursed her petite, beautiful body. And she was prey. Prey. She was prey. Tricked into his snare. Tricked into his snare.
I will not be tricked again.
If I object to everything you give me. What does that give me?
If I object to everything you say to me? What does that say about me?
If I object to the way you look at me? How does that make me look?
If object to the way that you kiss me? How could you tell I’m hooked?
Truth is I’m scared to accept all your gifts, though it would do me good.
Truth is I cry when I hear your words, they give me confidence.
Truth is your eyes reach to the darkest pits, and bring me back to life.
Truth is your lips steal away my breath and I slowly watch it drift…away
I object to rejecting you, I object to living like a corpse.
I object to rejecting love, I object without any remorse.
C'est la vie
objectification of objects. a water bottle is a water bottle because we tell it it is one. but what can a water bottle be when its not busy being that thing we tell it to be? what can it make what can it create and be made into?
A thing. What is it? Something that we perceive through our senses, only defined by what our perception tells us and only existing in the way that it is perceived to exist, otherwise undefinable to someone else.
Sirmeris
The object of life is to live. Isn’t it?
Or is it to die?
Whatever the object, I don’t care.
I’m here. I’m breathing. I’m me.
C'est la vie
is something that i see every day around me that can help me know whats good for me or not.hint for success and for a calm and peaceful life but in at many times ignored in my part.
oscar omar saldaña
Rain crackles against the roof, bursts of thunder beat oppressively against the walls, rattling windows in their frames. Through flashes of lightning, I see him standing solitary and unbowed, anger and desperation coalescing into the audacity to object. Harshed by the strain of a thousand fearful whispers, his voice thunders defiance while I can only stand to cower.
I am an object. To sit below you and stare up, unfeeling. I am an object. To do your bidding, most efficiently. I am an object. To make your life a little easier. I am an object.
What defines an object? Is it simply just a thing that takes up space and matter? Or is it defined by how we relate it in real life? An object can be multiple things, anything actually, until we define it with a word and make that connection in our brains.
Madison Marie
its sharp, and every time i look at it I wonder if its really for cleaning teeth. Its so shiny, and no one seems to notice how terrifying it looks except me.
Jesse Saunders
The object of your affection. The shimmering sparkle in your eye. The crooked smile upon your face. The slight raise of your left brow. Is this all because of me? Do I make you happy? Do I make anyone happy?
Do I make myself happy?
That is the real question.
i am not the object of your affection. i am the object of your abuse. you tell me not to call it abuse but it is. i feel like you hate me. like im a disposable object that never mattered to you and never will. but its over now and im happy. so fuck you. and i hope your never happy.
alyssa
I couldn’t help but stare at the object. More like a trunk actually. It’s smooth, glossy mahogany covered in chains, hiding thousands of mysteries. It forced my imagination to swerve crazily among the maze of my mind. So much so that I actually spent hours sitting by it plotting the day I would finally tear the chains away. It got to the point where I actually spent more time in the dreary basement where it resided, than with my friends and family. Even with this intense passion I never ventured to break into the trunk in real life. Perhaps it was due to fear of the punishment my parent’s would inflict on me, or to save the immeasurable treasure the trunk had grown to contain inside of my head. I guess we’ll never know now…
deny your right to put in your word
take out the pudding
mix in the milk
grainy objection to the liquid
and your words
bad kitchen
yellowed counter
smells like Jell-o vanilla
and your buttered bullshit
Ciara
The object is just a matter of mass, time and space. It forms the universe we know, the items we use. Think about it for just a second. What would you be without ?
This object doesn’t fit in your hand. This object really doesn’t even have a shape. This object isn’t within your grasp, or ever in plain sight. Where do you find an object that has no origin?
an object is anything that can be objectified, like an apple, a flying saucer a tamborine. i would like to play tamboirnes the musical jingles blasting through the air enthralls a vision of happiness and tikmes better had. if there were no objects there would be no imagination
An object can create an identity, as well as take it away. For the Jews, objects were what separated them from the beasts-those in concentration camps-yet was ultimately what they too would become. It is unfair? Absolutely. Is it a reality? Undoubtedly.
Are you the object of my affect?
Abject of all I recollect?
I know now not, but soon shall see
Solutions such as evade me.
Should I object the search effect,
Would all terms alter all?
Or would instead my spinning head
Allow the well owed fall?
maybe i am just an object for him. like any other fun object. something you can keep, you can give away.
maybe they are objects for me.
maybe true love never exists.
An object is an amazing concept. it can be created, it can be observed, it can be destroyed, it can be visualized, and the list goes on. an object to me is limited to the confines of my imagination. IT can can quite literally be anything you want it to be. And yet, it does not define life. no aspect of life can be considered an object. Instead, life is an experience, and emotion really. not something inanimate as an object. That is what makes life beautiful. It is ever changing, and ever progressing. unlike an object that will remain constant for eternity until life goes about and changes it.
It was an object of passion which lost the glory, with each moment that passed by…
i have six fingers
sticking to the silence
between your ribs.
there are words for this
but i do not want
to know them
ten years ago you said that a human
was more than an object
but here, with a cloth squeezed
between these four fingers
not touching the object
that you’ve become
i find i cannot
agree.
An object was sitting in a room. It had an obscure shape, one with no real definition. It was sharp and dark, sitting in a shadow with only its silouette visible. The object was more precious than anything I previously owned.
I have spent my days
longing for the open wind—
For a time when
I will no longer be
an object.
But time passes me by,
as clouds rolling overhead.
Time cannot be grasped;
Its sand leaves my hand,
carried on the breeze.
Now I’ve come to realize:
I will always be
an object.
So I choose to be a kite string,
slipping through someone’s fingers,
ascending to the open sky.
the object of my affection
sitting across the room
looking away at the sky
not knowing i stare openly
i am here and he is far away
dreaming of someone else
can i sit and cry at the stars
knowing he will never see me
loving him with my sad eyes
he the object of all the attention
seeing them all and ignoring mine
a heart without love is not a heart
his is there glimpses rendered immortal
i walk away letting them take his hands
silently i grieve my solitary existence
step by step leading to the object of hate
Object leads to objections and objectivity which is an art of relating the environment with the knowledge of physical products present as our mind is limited to the picturesque view of the world.
…to the way others treat you when they wish they’d treated themselves better. Object to the things people say that they wish someone had never said to them. Object to the things you’ll do only because you wish you’d done something else and one day there was nothing else left. Object to everything that could have been better or could have meant more.
object is a word we can understand in two ways. object is a thing, something materialized we can grab hold of. It is also one of the most important or should i say well known sayings/words in the practice of law. With “I object” we depict our non-agreement with the lawyer or party of the opposite opinion.
we are possessed by this word than nearly no one thinks about. Object, and object, a load of objects, they are the things we want, and think we need. We buy buy buy. To gain more objects. Even when we don’t need them
To her I am:
A chair.
A lamp.
A convenient store.
A couch.
A blanket.
A mistake.
An accomplishment.
A friend.
An enemy.
Family.
A stranger.
I am everything but what I want to be to her. I am everything and more.
Nászút
She stared at the sleek red paperweight
Why
She wondered
Would anyone ever purchase
Such
A ridiculous thing?
Everything has its own purpose. One thing may be to make you happy, one may be for the temporary fulfillment that consumes us so often. But we must realize, everything is just an object, not life.
Am I to be treated like an object to be put on idle?
Am I to be lonely,
It’s my fault
for needing him and falling in love in the first place.
Folly’s object is to objectify that which could never
be.
Each object falls off of me leaving me
naked,
exposed,
forever myself.
In these objects we place
ourselves,
riddled with fear,
and then we wonder,
“When the dust of our objects is blown away,
will anything
remain?”
Objects are everything around us. They make up the world we live in and make it what it is. Think of all the things in your life. All of the OBJECTS that you need? That’s right. The word is more powerful than you once thought. We’re all just objects in someone else’s world.
I looked down at the object glistening with fresh blood in my hand.
I still don’t rightly know what it was, maybe a paperweight of some kind. All I know is one second he was raising his hand, prepared to strike, and then my love was on the ground. Still and dead, blood flowing from the wound on his temple.
He shouldn’t have hit me.
an object is something that you can feel, something that’s there. Sometime’s it’s desired, others, despised. It often is what we as humans let define us, though it shouldn’t be so.
There are objects everywhere. Some hold purpose and some hold no purpose at all. Not everyone sees the an object the same way as someone else. Some objects hold sentimental value to one person and mean nothing to others. It’s all about how you view something that makes it special. Objects can be special depending on the person who views it.
She couldn’t object.
His hands were like clamps. They were sweaty, hot. Crisp against her olive skin. Like irons, they steamed and flattened her body against that rotting oak tree. The screams were laughter in his ears. Bells. Just instrumentals to the pleasured task he breathed. The girl was underneath his bulbous weight and could not snake her joints from the fat that compressed her already watered-down entrails. His sweat and her tears mingled like old friends.
Old friends. That’s what they had been. He was the fat boy, the awkward. She was the pretty girl, the tender fawn who was nice enough to lend him a hand in friendship. The only one. If only she had known. If she had only seen the hunger in his eyes whenever she looked away. But he was always looking. Always lusting. The girl was as loving as she had always been, a Snow White and a Huntsman. But this boy was not eating her alive for someone else. His pleasure was all for him. Back and forth he cursed her petite, beautiful body. And she was prey. Prey. She was prey. Tricked into his snare. Tricked into his snare.
I will not be tricked again.
If I object to everything you give me. What does that give me?
If I object to everything you say to me? What does that say about me?
If I object to the way you look at me? How does that make me look?
If object to the way that you kiss me? How could you tell I’m hooked?
Truth is I’m scared to accept all your gifts, though it would do me good.
Truth is I cry when I hear your words, they give me confidence.
Truth is your eyes reach to the darkest pits, and bring me back to life.
Truth is your lips steal away my breath and I slowly watch it drift…away
I object to rejecting you, I object to living like a corpse.
I object to rejecting love, I object without any remorse.
objectification of objects. a water bottle is a water bottle because we tell it it is one. but what can a water bottle be when its not busy being that thing we tell it to be? what can it make what can it create and be made into?
A thing. What is it? Something that we perceive through our senses, only defined by what our perception tells us and only existing in the way that it is perceived to exist, otherwise undefinable to someone else.
The object of life is to live. Isn’t it?
Or is it to die?
Whatever the object, I don’t care.
I’m here. I’m breathing. I’m me.
is something that i see every day around me that can help me know whats good for me or not.hint for success and for a calm and peaceful life but in at many times ignored in my part.
Rain crackles against the roof, bursts of thunder beat oppressively against the walls, rattling windows in their frames. Through flashes of lightning, I see him standing solitary and unbowed, anger and desperation coalescing into the audacity to object. Harshed by the strain of a thousand fearful whispers, his voice thunders defiance while I can only stand to cower.
I am an object. To sit below you and stare up, unfeeling. I am an object. To do your bidding, most efficiently. I am an object. To make your life a little easier. I am an object.
What defines an object? Is it simply just a thing that takes up space and matter? Or is it defined by how we relate it in real life? An object can be multiple things, anything actually, until we define it with a word and make that connection in our brains.
its sharp, and every time i look at it I wonder if its really for cleaning teeth. Its so shiny, and no one seems to notice how terrifying it looks except me.
The object of your affection. The shimmering sparkle in your eye. The crooked smile upon your face. The slight raise of your left brow. Is this all because of me? Do I make you happy? Do I make anyone happy?
Do I make myself happy?
That is the real question.
i am not the object of your affection. i am the object of your abuse. you tell me not to call it abuse but it is. i feel like you hate me. like im a disposable object that never mattered to you and never will. but its over now and im happy. so fuck you. and i hope your never happy.
I couldn’t help but stare at the object. More like a trunk actually. It’s smooth, glossy mahogany covered in chains, hiding thousands of mysteries. It forced my imagination to swerve crazily among the maze of my mind. So much so that I actually spent hours sitting by it plotting the day I would finally tear the chains away. It got to the point where I actually spent more time in the dreary basement where it resided, than with my friends and family. Even with this intense passion I never ventured to break into the trunk in real life. Perhaps it was due to fear of the punishment my parent’s would inflict on me, or to save the immeasurable treasure the trunk had grown to contain inside of my head. I guess we’ll never know now…
deny your right to put in your word
take out the pudding
mix in the milk
grainy objection to the liquid
and your words
bad kitchen
yellowed counter
smells like Jell-o vanilla
and your buttered bullshit
The object is just a matter of mass, time and space. It forms the universe we know, the items we use. Think about it for just a second. What would you be without ?