Will ful jenny craig being able to do something without hesitation freedom of the mind willful you can do this you want to do this its not a problem no hesitation dont think about it willful mind
Marissa
He is willful
not to give into his emotions,
his rage, blood coming to a boil,
calms like the ocean
after a thunderstorm.
His will
suppresses all emotion
to get the best solution
for his problem.
Feelings just get in the way,
road blocks;
they take us on detours.
And who would want to
drive near the cliff
if you can simple
travel in a tunnel?
Emotions are unnecessary,
useless tools.
a willful press forward
a sudden fall backward
trying and failing to succeed
trying and failing to make it somewhere
anywhere
anywhere but here
an attempt to move forward
and a sudden shove back
trying so hard to live
trying so hard to press back
back against the world
with my willful press forward
John clung tightly around Sherlock’s waist as he inspected the damage he’d done. Scratches ran along the bony spine and ribs, the perfect white neck was marred by several red blotches which would turn purple by the next day, and to be quite frank… the poor detective’s arse was a mess. John scrambled out of bed and ran down to the bathroom to grab tissues, and on second thought, an ice pack. He returned with them to his bed, where Sherlock had curled onto his side and had wrapped his arms around a pillow in John’s absence. The doctor let loose his nurturing instincts, doing the best he could to repair the damage he’d done in his heat. Sherlock seemed appreciative, though of the care or the attention John wasn’t sure. Lord, did that man crave attention.
Finally, John placed the ice pack under Sherlock’s bum and coaxingly rolled him over onto it, snuggling in close to secure him in place. The detective rolled his eyes as John treated him like some fragile thing, forgetting that he had already endured far worse pains, and none so willful. He let his gaze rest on John’s head, and leaned in to smooch at the sandy hairs with a wordless, affectionate murmur.
John squeezed gently around Sherlock’s waist, drawing in a slightly shaky breath as his eyes tried not to focus on the bruises coagulating around Sherlock’s larynx. “Sherlock,” he croaked gently, “You would…” he paused and tried to reword his thoughts, fingers trailing over the smooth skin of his partner’s chest in the interim. “It’s just… Well, I get so wrapped up in things, you know? Afterward I wonder if I didn’t overdo it. If I’ve gone too far, done something akin to… well… rape, for lack of a better word.” He winced at the negative term, already knowing it wasn’t quite right, but unsure how else sex might apply to a self-proclaimed asexual.
Sherlock snorted, “Rape? Please, John, you give yourself too much credit. Or not enough, depending on how you look at it.” As the doctor lifted his gaze to peer up at Sherlock in confusion, wondering how his eyes had managed to turn a bit green, the taller man stretched out a bit and winced only slightly as the ice pack shifted against his sore gluteus. “Think of it this way,” he murmured into John’s hair, wrapping his slender fingers around the outline of the bullet scar, “I know how to take care of myself. You couldn’t rape me if you tried.” John lifted an eyebrow at him, but let him continue. “And furthermore, you…” This time the eloquent detective was at a loss for phrasing, as he had never before used this one, “You are the love of my life. I do this, willingly and not without some form of pleasure, because of that fact. Were it anyone else, I believe your train of thought may apply. Were it anyone else but you.”
John’s cheeks flushed at the admission, and he buried his nose back into Sherlock’s neck, gently planting a kiss against one of the bite-marks. “Still,” he insisted, “You WOULD tell me if you didn’t want to continue, right?”
Sherlock chuckled. “Always.”
You do everything forcefully, with purpose. You look straight ahead as you walk, never at the ground, and you look everyone in the eye. It’s the most disconcerting thing in the entire world, talking to you. I feel like you can see everything I’m thinking, like you can tell that I’m terrified of you, terrified of losing you. Someday I might not be part of your plan anymore.
“No,” she thrust her chin out, willfully. “I’m not going to marry some stupid prince with yellow teeth and bad breath.” With a toss of her bubblegum pink locks, she turned on her heel and left the room.
One woman that has transformed into a dear companion in my life, said once, early on in our friendship that I was a sea monster. It scarcely matters, that I have forgotten what circumstance it was in direct reference to. Nonetheless, she pronounced, and was impressed by the peaks and troughs of the much considered phrase, that “Arthur Boneham is willfully determined to be and travel counter to whatever he understands is expected of him”. A stranger reading the sentence in a newspaper say, could be forgiven for construing this as repugnance on her part . Au contraire, heed that this was indubitably Betty’s wet and greasy pride. This was a case of Betty attaining a special comfort for herself, by means of labelling one of those amorphous feelings that snagged her essence. This “counter” force that she credited me, was one that she clinged to with uncommon frenzy. She never failed to remind me that I was her dangerous muse. Sure enough, I was goaded toward inconceivable acts, things that I wouldn’t have the need to pursue on my own.
So there you have it, I am a perverse man. It is imprudent to associate with my sort regularly. If she is to be believed.
Dave
Stubborn mule, wonderously winded by your own self-directed protests. Watch as you carefully walk around topics, stepping over those that leave a bad taste in your mouth. You are too neurotic to be left to your own devices, but too willful to be contained in anything that appears to be any less.
A willful idea…but who has a will in a world of technology when everyone can be so easily tagged or included in something without permission? Permission is more important a word.
Taylor
The willingness to do something will reflect on you throughout your life. Being willing can come from your morals and values, and can mean may different things. Willfullness can be taken in a good or bad way.
The wounds on my hand remind me of how willful I can be sometimes. A red slice from a friend’s laptop; he destroyed it for enjoyment. A fleck of missing skin from cutting a drumtrack; a tribute to a good man I never met. The last two are patches of missing skin from punching and smashing stuff out of frustration; a tribute to a girl I once thought I knew.
Being willful is the desire to do or not do something. Willfullness comes from your morals and values, and is the center of all your decisions throughout your life. Willing to do something will effect not only your life, but all of the lives around you, because willfullness reflects on you.
Morgan
Intelligent, daring, and willful. She always was though. And that was why he hated every minute with her.
When there is a will there is a way to get out of whatever you get yourself in. Willing yourself to leave, to make an effort just this once. She is so damn willful that you worry she will never make it out alive.
steadilyunsound
The beast was stubborn, willful
And refused to give up even
When it would be wise.
Teeth grip fiercly and
All you can do is hold on.
Is every action we take completely willful? Certainly, it is not comprised of only one’s consious judgement, for there is probably more than that. But, there is one thing that is fact: It is all in your head, every perception. Perhaps it is not willful, maybe intuitive. Is that the same?
Idk honestly nothing comes to mind when I think of this word. I’m drawing a blank. Nothing, nada, niet. Wtf this is weird.. I’ve never had this happen before where a word doesn’t remind me of anything. Remind. That I could write about. Remember, that too. Sometimes I wonder if you ever think of me.
I’m willful. Or not. I don’t know what that means. Uh. Yeah. Would you please tell me? Please? Willful. Not scared to do anything? Will do anything. I think that’s what it means. I dunno. Tell me.
Elaine
In those who are willful, persistence is their greatest strength, yet their biggest weakness.
I am willful.
I am willing to change. I am willing to push myself. I am willing to move past that night, a year ago (a little over a year, honestly) so I can dance again.
That night I cried and called Joe at 1 am.
I called Joe at 1 am and he picked up, and I poured my broken heart out for him to hear.
I am willful, and I am willing to move on from Martin, and the burning sensation of pain that comes up with every thought of him.
And every thought that he wants me back.
willfulness, that’s a sign right?
a sign that you’re heart’s willing to pull you outside
apart from your bodily existence
to love
I’m willing, she said
I’m willing too, he answered
Willingness put them together
As their hearts mended into one
You knew that it was coming
Willfulness, that is
Jen
He was unyielding. I could see the fire in his eyes as he destroyed our village. The home I knew was burned to the ground. Not a cinder remained that could bring back any memories. My mother and father were gone and only I survive.
J
Ah, the will. Pit your intentions against the chaos of misfortune and malice. May your will be strong, and your voice heard; even among the garble of the many
willful. being willful is to insist on doing something your way and not to let others have their own mind or idea. being willful also applies when we refuse to accept other things.
willful children always force their parents to buy the things that they want, without considering the situation and they will make a fuss if the parents don’t.
michelle
Evangeline was always a willful child.
Everyone knew that if there was a screeching sound of brakes outside the picture window followed by the howling sound of someone’s darling letting loose with a most unchildish flow of obscenity, a bare glance would show a head of dark brown curls untamed by any brush.
Sarah was as willful as an adult as she had been as a child. Mrs. Hunter shook her head and sighed, knowing that the young woman needed something to change that hard heart of hers, but she knew that the God of the Universe would be capable of it. So she prayed.
A willful girl, looking to replace the daddy that abandoned her. She’s seducing all the wrong men, men much older than she should want to be with. It happens fast and she never regrets it, because to her it feels like love, like someone is finally telling her she’s worth having around. She’ll keep doing it because she needs that in her life.
Optimistic. Open. Glowing eyes and hesitant smiles. Tiptoes waiting on an edge, a precipice, waiting for a push or gentle breeze to tumble over. Fingers fumbling gently in darkness, searching for something to feel. Steps forward. Trying. Failing, and trying again.
Bailey
“you just have to have you own way” she sneered with the obligatory eye roll, “every single time”. she huffed on past me with menace in her every movement. “you’re willful, you’re bold, very very bold”. shaming me with every syllable, every lash of the tongue. “why do i have to be saddled with such a willful brat” she leaned in and grabbed the tray of my walker mobile, “why oh why do i have to put up with you”.
i smiled a tremulous smile, showing my two new teeth and a real honest to god tear in my left eye. using my only word, recently learned, “bye, bye, bye, bye, bye”. banging on the tray filled with cheerios. “no, no, no, no, no”
matina
what does it mean to be willful?
willing to give?
or full enough to give?
gina
willful. not against one’s will. this word stumps me not willfully.
Kate
I willfully let it go. It’s gone now, no way to get it back. I still dream, I sometimes wait, forgetting that it’s gone
I’m willful and strong and stubborn
I have to be, to stay away from you/ when all I want to do is hop on the next train to your house and stand there until you love me.
It takes a lot of strength.
These strange rhythms that steal me from my own mind are the result of someone squeezing music out of sound and that music is the strange offbeat noise that made you mine.
Gianna
That twist in the gut, it happens every time and I feel pale and feeble. She is so willful and demanding. I will just stay away until I feel better, feel quieter. What right does she have to shout at me like that. I don’t need to be here and the next time I would do the same thing. It is just that she is so dirty from living on the streets and I can’t change that. She won’t let me help.
somehow I will make this about him. I will will it so. It will be about him because I am thinking about him, haven’t stopped thinking about him since he told me that he had proposed to her and I told him that I was waiting to be proposed to. please understand that I do not want to be with him. rather I miss him, I want to hold him, to feed each other our happiness. or perhaps I want to cradle the possibility of him, little child swaddled up in my arms, and dying. and dead.
Will ful jenny craig being able to do something without hesitation freedom of the mind willful you can do this you want to do this its not a problem no hesitation dont think about it willful mind
He is willful
not to give into his emotions,
his rage, blood coming to a boil,
calms like the ocean
after a thunderstorm.
His will
suppresses all emotion
to get the best solution
for his problem.
Feelings just get in the way,
road blocks;
they take us on detours.
And who would want to
drive near the cliff
if you can simple
travel in a tunnel?
Emotions are unnecessary,
useless tools.
a willful press forward
a sudden fall backward
trying and failing to succeed
trying and failing to make it somewhere
anywhere
anywhere but here
an attempt to move forward
and a sudden shove back
trying so hard to live
trying so hard to press back
back against the world
with my willful press forward
John clung tightly around Sherlock’s waist as he inspected the damage he’d done. Scratches ran along the bony spine and ribs, the perfect white neck was marred by several red blotches which would turn purple by the next day, and to be quite frank… the poor detective’s arse was a mess. John scrambled out of bed and ran down to the bathroom to grab tissues, and on second thought, an ice pack. He returned with them to his bed, where Sherlock had curled onto his side and had wrapped his arms around a pillow in John’s absence. The doctor let loose his nurturing instincts, doing the best he could to repair the damage he’d done in his heat. Sherlock seemed appreciative, though of the care or the attention John wasn’t sure. Lord, did that man crave attention.
Finally, John placed the ice pack under Sherlock’s bum and coaxingly rolled him over onto it, snuggling in close to secure him in place. The detective rolled his eyes as John treated him like some fragile thing, forgetting that he had already endured far worse pains, and none so willful. He let his gaze rest on John’s head, and leaned in to smooch at the sandy hairs with a wordless, affectionate murmur.
John squeezed gently around Sherlock’s waist, drawing in a slightly shaky breath as his eyes tried not to focus on the bruises coagulating around Sherlock’s larynx. “Sherlock,” he croaked gently, “You would…” he paused and tried to reword his thoughts, fingers trailing over the smooth skin of his partner’s chest in the interim. “It’s just… Well, I get so wrapped up in things, you know? Afterward I wonder if I didn’t overdo it. If I’ve gone too far, done something akin to… well… rape, for lack of a better word.” He winced at the negative term, already knowing it wasn’t quite right, but unsure how else sex might apply to a self-proclaimed asexual.
Sherlock snorted, “Rape? Please, John, you give yourself too much credit. Or not enough, depending on how you look at it.” As the doctor lifted his gaze to peer up at Sherlock in confusion, wondering how his eyes had managed to turn a bit green, the taller man stretched out a bit and winced only slightly as the ice pack shifted against his sore gluteus. “Think of it this way,” he murmured into John’s hair, wrapping his slender fingers around the outline of the bullet scar, “I know how to take care of myself. You couldn’t rape me if you tried.” John lifted an eyebrow at him, but let him continue. “And furthermore, you…” This time the eloquent detective was at a loss for phrasing, as he had never before used this one, “You are the love of my life. I do this, willingly and not without some form of pleasure, because of that fact. Were it anyone else, I believe your train of thought may apply. Were it anyone else but you.”
John’s cheeks flushed at the admission, and he buried his nose back into Sherlock’s neck, gently planting a kiss against one of the bite-marks. “Still,” he insisted, “You WOULD tell me if you didn’t want to continue, right?”
Sherlock chuckled. “Always.”
You do everything forcefully, with purpose. You look straight ahead as you walk, never at the ground, and you look everyone in the eye. It’s the most disconcerting thing in the entire world, talking to you. I feel like you can see everything I’m thinking, like you can tell that I’m terrified of you, terrified of losing you. Someday I might not be part of your plan anymore.
“No,” she thrust her chin out, willfully. “I’m not going to marry some stupid prince with yellow teeth and bad breath.” With a toss of her bubblegum pink locks, she turned on her heel and left the room.
One woman that has transformed into a dear companion in my life, said once, early on in our friendship that I was a sea monster. It scarcely matters, that I have forgotten what circumstance it was in direct reference to. Nonetheless, she pronounced, and was impressed by the peaks and troughs of the much considered phrase, that “Arthur Boneham is willfully determined to be and travel counter to whatever he understands is expected of him”. A stranger reading the sentence in a newspaper say, could be forgiven for construing this as repugnance on her part . Au contraire, heed that this was indubitably Betty’s wet and greasy pride. This was a case of Betty attaining a special comfort for herself, by means of labelling one of those amorphous feelings that snagged her essence. This “counter” force that she credited me, was one that she clinged to with uncommon frenzy. She never failed to remind me that I was her dangerous muse. Sure enough, I was goaded toward inconceivable acts, things that I wouldn’t have the need to pursue on my own.
So there you have it, I am a perverse man. It is imprudent to associate with my sort regularly. If she is to be believed.
Stubborn mule, wonderously winded by your own self-directed protests. Watch as you carefully walk around topics, stepping over those that leave a bad taste in your mouth. You are too neurotic to be left to your own devices, but too willful to be contained in anything that appears to be any less.
The willful spirit that lives inside of her, haunting her heart and moving her forward to the end of its destiny is growing weary.
A willful idea…but who has a will in a world of technology when everyone can be so easily tagged or included in something without permission? Permission is more important a word.
The willingness to do something will reflect on you throughout your life. Being willing can come from your morals and values, and can mean may different things. Willfullness can be taken in a good or bad way.
The wounds on my hand remind me of how willful I can be sometimes. A red slice from a friend’s laptop; he destroyed it for enjoyment. A fleck of missing skin from cutting a drumtrack; a tribute to a good man I never met. The last two are patches of missing skin from punching and smashing stuff out of frustration; a tribute to a girl I once thought I knew.
Being willful is the desire to do or not do something. Willfullness comes from your morals and values, and is the center of all your decisions throughout your life. Willing to do something will effect not only your life, but all of the lives around you, because willfullness reflects on you.
Intelligent, daring, and willful. She always was though. And that was why he hated every minute with her.
When there is a will there is a way to get out of whatever you get yourself in. Willing yourself to leave, to make an effort just this once. She is so damn willful that you worry she will never make it out alive.
The beast was stubborn, willful
And refused to give up even
When it would be wise.
Teeth grip fiercly and
All you can do is hold on.
Is every action we take completely willful? Certainly, it is not comprised of only one’s consious judgement, for there is probably more than that. But, there is one thing that is fact: It is all in your head, every perception. Perhaps it is not willful, maybe intuitive. Is that the same?
Idk honestly nothing comes to mind when I think of this word. I’m drawing a blank. Nothing, nada, niet. Wtf this is weird.. I’ve never had this happen before where a word doesn’t remind me of anything. Remind. That I could write about. Remember, that too. Sometimes I wonder if you ever think of me.
I’m willful. Or not. I don’t know what that means. Uh. Yeah. Would you please tell me? Please? Willful. Not scared to do anything? Will do anything. I think that’s what it means. I dunno. Tell me.
In those who are willful, persistence is their greatest strength, yet their biggest weakness.
I am willful.
I am willing to change. I am willing to push myself. I am willing to move past that night, a year ago (a little over a year, honestly) so I can dance again.
That night I cried and called Joe at 1 am.
I called Joe at 1 am and he picked up, and I poured my broken heart out for him to hear.
I am willful, and I am willing to move on from Martin, and the burning sensation of pain that comes up with every thought of him.
And every thought that he wants me back.
willfulness, that’s a sign right?
a sign that you’re heart’s willing to pull you outside
apart from your bodily existence
to love
I’m willing, she said
I’m willing too, he answered
Willingness put them together
As their hearts mended into one
You knew that it was coming
Willfulness, that is
He was unyielding. I could see the fire in his eyes as he destroyed our village. The home I knew was burned to the ground. Not a cinder remained that could bring back any memories. My mother and father were gone and only I survive.
Ah, the will. Pit your intentions against the chaos of misfortune and malice. May your will be strong, and your voice heard; even among the garble of the many
willful. being willful is to insist on doing something your way and not to let others have their own mind or idea. being willful also applies when we refuse to accept other things.
willful children always force their parents to buy the things that they want, without considering the situation and they will make a fuss if the parents don’t.
Evangeline was always a willful child.
Everyone knew that if there was a screeching sound of brakes outside the picture window followed by the howling sound of someone’s darling letting loose with a most unchildish flow of obscenity, a bare glance would show a head of dark brown curls untamed by any brush.
Sarah was as willful as an adult as she had been as a child. Mrs. Hunter shook her head and sighed, knowing that the young woman needed something to change that hard heart of hers, but she knew that the God of the Universe would be capable of it. So she prayed.
A willful girl, looking to replace the daddy that abandoned her. She’s seducing all the wrong men, men much older than she should want to be with. It happens fast and she never regrets it, because to her it feels like love, like someone is finally telling her she’s worth having around. She’ll keep doing it because she needs that in her life.
Optimistic. Open. Glowing eyes and hesitant smiles. Tiptoes waiting on an edge, a precipice, waiting for a push or gentle breeze to tumble over. Fingers fumbling gently in darkness, searching for something to feel. Steps forward. Trying. Failing, and trying again.
“you just have to have you own way” she sneered with the obligatory eye roll, “every single time”. she huffed on past me with menace in her every movement. “you’re willful, you’re bold, very very bold”. shaming me with every syllable, every lash of the tongue. “why do i have to be saddled with such a willful brat” she leaned in and grabbed the tray of my walker mobile, “why oh why do i have to put up with you”.
i smiled a tremulous smile, showing my two new teeth and a real honest to god tear in my left eye. using my only word, recently learned, “bye, bye, bye, bye, bye”. banging on the tray filled with cheerios. “no, no, no, no, no”
what does it mean to be willful?
willing to give?
or full enough to give?
willful. not against one’s will. this word stumps me not willfully.
I willfully let it go. It’s gone now, no way to get it back. I still dream, I sometimes wait, forgetting that it’s gone
I was sitting in class when my teacher siad,”Could you take this to the office?”I said,I will be willing to!”I was willful that day and everyday!
I’m willful and strong and stubborn
I have to be, to stay away from you/ when all I want to do is hop on the next train to your house and stand there until you love me.
It takes a lot of strength.
The willful, skillful child strolled through the pending, bending path with a girlish, foolish smile playing on her little, brittle lips
These strange rhythms that steal me from my own mind are the result of someone squeezing music out of sound and that music is the strange offbeat noise that made you mine.
That twist in the gut, it happens every time and I feel pale and feeble. She is so willful and demanding. I will just stay away until I feel better, feel quieter. What right does she have to shout at me like that. I don’t need to be here and the next time I would do the same thing. It is just that she is so dirty from living on the streets and I can’t change that. She won’t let me help.
somehow I will make this about him. I will will it so. It will be about him because I am thinking about him, haven’t stopped thinking about him since he told me that he had proposed to her and I told him that I was waiting to be proposed to. please understand that I do not want to be with him. rather I miss him, I want to hold him, to feed each other our happiness. or perhaps I want to cradle the possibility of him, little child swaddled up in my arms, and dying. and dead.
Willful. I got nothin, and the timer is making me nervous.