She wears a goddamned cat collar to school everyday, it’s made of black felt and a name tag – just in case our perfectly behaved classmates decide to start a fight and she dies in the middle of it.
She keeps that collar on at home too, especially if her boyfriend’s there taking up all the bed with his “massive manliness” but it’s just so he knows what to call her when everyone can hear them.
There’s a collar modeled after the one she tried to make for her own cat and she won’t let it out of her sight. Because collars make her feel safe – knowing someone will always leave milk on the porch and food by the bed.
There was lipstick on his collar. She gazed at him with eyes that were full of questions. He looked back at her, unaware of what to say. Her lips finally parted, and before she knew it accusations upon accusations were hitting him.
The day was bright and I was trying to get out of bed. My collar was stuck to the frame. I tried to pull it off but it wouldn’t come off. What is going on?, I thought to myself as I kept pulling on it. hmm…It does not seem to even be attached to the frame.
That collar is so hard to buckle on that shaggy neck. She is chomping at the bit to get out the door. The big, wide world is out there full of fun things to chase…
The collar was choking him, but he knew that he couldn’t loosen it. Or at least, not just yet. He was a prisoner and he had to serve out his punishment before he could be able to breathe again.
So he sat as still as possible and watched the graduation ceremonies on the stage, under the watchful gaze of his mother. She reached over and tightened his tight another notch.
Collars are traps for dogs and for men.
Collars trap a dog onto a leash, or a man in a suit.
No dogs like leashes.
No men like suits.
Collars are traps for dogs and men.
When I look at my dog Lizzie, I think she is a better Buddhist than I am. She lives in the present and finds so much joy there, while I squander away seconds with constant worry and regret.
She adjusted his collar and looked up, smiling. “You look great.”
“You like it?”
“I do, it’s very handsome.”
“Oh, interesting” he purred into her hair and started to run his hands over his waist.
“Stop” she laughed, trying to keep her knees from weakening.
A collar is an interesting thing. Back in the old days, collars used to be separate to the shirt. Now, they’re attached to it. In most cases, the shirts have no collars. What would the ancients have thought about us?
I have always had problems with the collar of my shirts. It is the place that gets dirtiest, and is hardest to wash. I like buttoned down collars because they make it easy to wear shirts without ties. The kind collar that is cut back at an angle is not so cute.
off of me mongrel hand wincing I wind dowwn with prongs sunk deep into my fur. stop. Halt. Go. Move. Love. Love with this collar. Love with the remedy of dog in hand yanked aboout. I will imagine you and I share this collar and you understand it hurts. you take it off I look at you the moment of awareness compassion truth hands neck cord. Stop halt injury to kindness prong insert lift. Suddenly afterwards after the walk we touch I don’t know how long before I walk you out of here
popped. A aggravating thing he liked to do. trying out new and uf\gly styles with his clothes. too poor to buy new ones. bored of the ones he’s had since highschool. too stubborn to listen when i tell him where i get mine for cheap.
All I remember is that my best friend is in love with collar bones. That’s what she loves about each of her boyfriends, wach time she gets a new one. She loves to tell me about how she kisses their collarbones and how she wishes she had pronounced ones like a boy’s.
He adjusted the collar of his shirt and stared deep into the green eyes of his reflection. Twenty years ago, a girl had fallen in love with them. He’d never understood why. And now it was too late to ask her.
He tried to run away from me, but I was too fast. He tried to hit me, but my blows were sharper and more damaging. He tried to cuss me out, but I extended my fingers and gripped the rough edges of his shirt collar, pulling the stiff fabric around his neck so he could barely breathe.
“In my neighborhood,” I warned him in a low growl, “your rebellion stops at my doorstep.”
I straightened out my clothes, tucked my starched white shirt into my burgundy dress pants, and stood there for a long, long time. My tie felt crooked no matter how tirelessly I adjusted it, and collar felt too tight no matter how I flipped it around.
Shirts have a collars on them.
She wears a goddamned cat collar to school everyday, it’s made of black felt and a name tag – just in case our perfectly behaved classmates decide to start a fight and she dies in the middle of it.
She keeps that collar on at home too, especially if her boyfriend’s there taking up all the bed with his “massive manliness” but it’s just so he knows what to call her when everyone can hear them.
There’s a collar modeled after the one she tried to make for her own cat and she won’t let it out of her sight. Because collars make her feel safe – knowing someone will always leave milk on the porch and food by the bed.
There was lipstick on his collar. She gazed at him with eyes that were full of questions. He looked back at her, unaware of what to say. Her lips finally parted, and before she knew it accusations upon accusations were hitting him.
The day was bright and I was trying to get out of bed. My collar was stuck to the frame. I tried to pull it off but it wouldn’t come off. What is going on?, I thought to myself as I kept pulling on it. hmm…It does not seem to even be attached to the frame.
it stands up at the edge of your neck and it keeps you nice and warm. sometimes it can look really stylish.
That collar is so hard to buckle on that shaggy neck. She is chomping at the bit to get out the door. The big, wide world is out there full of fun things to chase…
When you press hard against me
I am unsure
if you know what you are asking
then slowly it floods my limbs:
you’re not asking
I fear
What you are capable of
Where you will lead me
Animals stand
in the still night air
shrouded statues
glued down to a black chessboard
as you wander
from the carnival lights
leave the sawdust, the straw
you can pick a path through anything
you picked me
The collar was choking him, but he knew that he couldn’t loosen it. Or at least, not just yet. He was a prisoner and he had to serve out his punishment before he could be able to breathe again.
So he sat as still as possible and watched the graduation ceremonies on the stage, under the watchful gaze of his mother. She reached over and tightened his tight another notch.
collar bones
collard greens
collard phones
and collar means
caller id is calling me
what do i mean
oh what do i mean
Collars are traps for dogs and for men.
Collars trap a dog onto a leash, or a man in a suit.
No dogs like leashes.
No men like suits.
Collars are traps for dogs and men.
When I look at my dog Lizzie, I think she is a better Buddhist than I am. She lives in the present and finds so much joy there, while I squander away seconds with constant worry and regret.
She adjusted his collar and looked up, smiling. “You look great.”
“You like it?”
“I do, it’s very handsome.”
“Oh, interesting” he purred into her hair and started to run his hands over his waist.
“Stop” she laughed, trying to keep her knees from weakening.
I already submitted this about five times! This website sucks.
A collar is an interesting thing. Back in the old days, collars used to be separate to the shirt. Now, they’re attached to it. In most cases, the shirts have no collars. What would the ancients have thought about us?
His collar was too tight. Why did he choose to wear that shirt on that day? It was too late now, she was almost there. Why?
She ironed the collar of her business dress particularly carefully.
I have always had problems with the collar of my shirts. It is the place that gets dirtiest, and is hardest to wash. I like buttoned down collars because they make it easy to wear shirts without ties. The kind collar that is cut back at an angle is not so cute.
off of me mongrel hand wincing I wind dowwn with prongs sunk deep into my fur. stop. Halt. Go. Move. Love. Love with this collar. Love with the remedy of dog in hand yanked aboout. I will imagine you and I share this collar and you understand it hurts. you take it off I look at you the moment of awareness compassion truth hands neck cord. Stop halt injury to kindness prong insert lift. Suddenly afterwards after the walk we touch I don’t know how long before I walk you out of here
popped. A aggravating thing he liked to do. trying out new and uf\gly styles with his clothes. too poor to buy new ones. bored of the ones he’s had since highschool. too stubborn to listen when i tell him where i get mine for cheap.
All I remember is that my best friend is in love with collar bones. That’s what she loves about each of her boyfriends, wach time she gets a new one. She loves to tell me about how she kisses their collarbones and how she wishes she had pronounced ones like a boy’s.
He adjusted the collar of his shirt and stared deep into the green eyes of his reflection. Twenty years ago, a girl had fallen in love with them. He’d never understood why. And now it was too late to ask her.
He tried to run away from me, but I was too fast. He tried to hit me, but my blows were sharper and more damaging. He tried to cuss me out, but I extended my fingers and gripped the rough edges of his shirt collar, pulling the stiff fabric around his neck so he could barely breathe.
“In my neighborhood,” I warned him in a low growl, “your rebellion stops at my doorstep.”
I straightened out my clothes, tucked my starched white shirt into my burgundy dress pants, and stood there for a long, long time. My tie felt crooked no matter how tirelessly I adjusted it, and collar felt too tight no matter how I flipped it around.