He placed his ballot in the box and nervously shuffled out the door. Had he voted for the right candidate? Had he really? Was this the best policy, the best way? You have to be careful when you vote for someone who promotes nuclear war.
I looked. I sweat. I couldn’t breath. This election could mean everything. What was I supposed to do? A matter of faith. A matter of logic. A twist in my stomach. A battle within myself.
decisions.
morals, values,
pleading promises
little white lies
dressed up in bow ties.
straining for truth
among
smoking mirrors.
the right way to go
is in my direction.
I awoke. Today was election day. If the entire village didn’t vote for me on the annual life preservation ballot I was to die. That couldn’t happen, I knew I would get married soon. Then I’d be safe. Society would accept me.
Why does my pencil not mark at this moment? Of all the moments, it had to come down to this. How did it come down to one ballot? How did it come down to mine?
It’s just one ballot, one out of millions. There are so many little pieces of paper out there in the world with everyone’s say, and yours is just one. It’s just one… but I promise you, it matters.
My entry was in. I was so nervous that I wouldn’t get selected. Everyone was so eager to get in. I was starting to doubt my job choice. Would I get in? who knows?
life is messy and i don’t enjoy it. every day,
another wine glass. french names too shy to
leave my tongue until forced. meanwhile,
i am 22 and washing behind the ears seems more
and more a cultivated lifestyle.
you, who still vacuum under the bed, consider the way
the days swell and fatten under the spring sun.
The indecision grips your stomach like a vise, squeezing so hard until you can hardly breathe
Is this how all choices are like? One or the other?
Must we be forced to conform to the patterns of society, adopt the pretense of the perfect being?
Casting our ballots to support one idea or the other? Like good citizens, or like good conformists?
But really, we don’t have a choice, do we?
Lies roll off deceitfully truthful tongues–we can be whatever, whoever we want, we can believe what we feel, we can be daring, artistic, different
But can we?
Or is it just the people who have the strength, drawing from a drying well with every moment of their lives must live with the terrible consequences of being something that doesn’t fit into the perfect little box?
The little boxes lined up in rows
The ways of this world crisscross across the oceans and deserts
Like tripwire, one step and you are caught
The council bickers, and bickers, and bickers, and when they can no longer bicker they bring their bickering to a subcommittee that bickers so long as the boys upstairs can’t – and if by some terrible act of fate the subcommittee fails to come to a decision, they bounce it back at the council who begin their bickering again with a new fervor.
The noise is uproarious. Arguments flying from one corner to the next, devils advocates and cherubs unidentifiable in the whole mess. There’s too much identity to gain, too much face to lose. Indecisiveness is a plague on the consciousness, and with a sick heart I ask myself: who I will elect to represent myself today?
Ballot, ballot, it bounces like a basketball – the word does, ballot. Quiet in the room for now though; I cannot say it out loud though I want to have it sound out like that basketball dropped in an empty gymnasium. My bedmate is asleep.
makes me think of the hanging chad sketches they did on SNL after W won the election. I see images in my minds eye of re white and blue of those I voted stickers, and sickeningly of trump’s smiling face, how horrible.
It wasn’t my idea to enter the race in the first place, but now I was in the gym smuggling ballots in under my shirt. Stuffing the ballot boxes. Really?
funny if i
take back the words i live by
inspired to try
by the lies in their eyes
busted ballot
unspoken promises broken
forever live in the mire or
tired by the lying of
I was asked to enter my name into a ballot to find out if I would be selected to represent my class. I was really nervous and worried that I wouldn’t be selected because it was something I really wanted to do. I thought I would be good at the role but there were many others who also wanted to be selected. I thought I wouldn’t sleep that night but was really tired so fell asleep straight away.
A place to drop decisions. Some secret scrap of paper where a name is written. Choosing sides, taking an informative stance, sweeping things beneath the proverbial rug. Something deemed honorary of society. I’ll scribble negative zero, I’ll take my chances.
A ballot is a i have no clue i think its like a log to be honest you like sit on it or something………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
They were handing out the ballot. Everyone had to fill it out, and if they didn’t they were stared at and judged endlessly. It was a simple thing. All you had to do was circle the person you voted for. It was only that and nothing more. Fa
The ballot was cast. The die was thrown. There was nothing she could do but wait. Which, of course, was the thing she was worst at. The minutes ticked by. It was going to take more than mere minutes, but you couldn’t convince her of that. She sat in constant suspension.
Voting takes place every so often and it drives me crazy that people don’t vote. Oh my vote doesn’t matter. Oh I don;t like the options. But voting leaves the decision to others. Then you complain about how you things are run when you chose not to vote. I mean take Colin Kapernick who protests the National Anthem but doesn’t take the time to go vote. WTF!
a piece of paper that indicates a winner or loser. something that has been used for many years. and will be continued to be used for many more. a winner and a loser.
It was a year in which ballot’s may have destroyed our country, but let’s look at the bright side. We are still living, breathing, and getting to be a part of this awesome thing called LIFE. A small piece of paper does not determine who you are as a person or who you are going to be in the future. Do not let the decisions of others affect how you live out each of the small miracles that life has to offer each day.
It is recorded.
A small sheet of paper, a private piece of paper, it holds a few marks set by my hand that speak beyond themselves. This is how I feel, this is what I believe, I am this person. I truly (think) I am this person.
And I pray if it is ever discovered, it will not be used against me.
The poetry of it all- only in my little box can I be honest, put things clearly, while they are jumbled and blurred outside. How a few words can represent an entire person; how they’re used, their tone, their effect. If seen, you will never need to show your face or say another word; who you are will have already been decided and such conviction will not be overturned by further evidence.
Here I record what is more important; do I fight for myself, or the good of all? I can never hope for both- can I even achieve one? Only a dark smudge remains where there once was a middle ground, some set of lukewarm compromises.
I’ve already written it down, and even if I tear the paper to bits, burn them, swallow them, their truth is still a fire in my veins, a virus in my stomach.
Is there no satifactory nomination?
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Do not set fire to the ballot box. Do not tear down the protesters’ signs. Leave your engines running, but your cars idle. Do not mark a martyr’s body with tire treads.
Be mindful of who interferes with what. A dictator is only friends for a day. Then the champagne you drink from the flute is poisoned, and you sleep while the republic withers away.
We had to put names into a ballot to decide which parents would go on camp. The funny thing is that we knew exactly who we wanted to go but had to go through this process in order for the parents to feel it was fair. Not a very fair process at all. I’m sure we have all been in this situation when we have felt the outcome was decided prior to the vote.
We had too many parents wanting to come to camp so had to put it to a ballot. We all know that the reality is, we pick who we want and the ballot system is a farce. If only it was as simple as drawing a few names out of a box. There are so many specific qualities needed for parents on camp. We need to look at their skills, their personalities, how they relate to others, how they manage their own children and quite possibly the other children. Do they have any convictions?
He placed his ballot in the box and nervously shuffled out the door. Had he voted for the right candidate? Had he really? Was this the best policy, the best way? You have to be careful when you vote for someone who promotes nuclear war.
I’d show you my ballot,
if you’d show me yours.
It’s at times like these
when my mind insecures.
I looked. I sweat. I couldn’t breath. This election could mean everything. What was I supposed to do? A matter of faith. A matter of logic. A twist in my stomach. A battle within myself.
decisions.
morals, values,
pleading promises
little white lies
dressed up in bow ties.
straining for truth
among
smoking mirrors.
the right way to go
is in my direction.
I awoke. Today was election day. If the entire village didn’t vote for me on the annual life preservation ballot I was to die. That couldn’t happen, I knew I would get married soon. Then I’d be safe. Society would accept me.
Why does my pencil not mark at this moment? Of all the moments, it had to come down to this. How did it come down to one ballot? How did it come down to mine?
It’s just one ballot, one out of millions. There are so many little pieces of paper out there in the world with everyone’s say, and yours is just one. It’s just one… but I promise you, it matters.
My entry was in. I was so nervous that I wouldn’t get selected. Everyone was so eager to get in. I was starting to doubt my job choice. Would I get in? who knows?
life is messy and i don’t enjoy it. every day,
another wine glass. french names too shy to
leave my tongue until forced. meanwhile,
i am 22 and washing behind the ears seems more
and more a cultivated lifestyle.
you, who still vacuum under the bed, consider the way
the days swell and fatten under the spring sun.
government, choices, information, titles, difficult
The indecision grips your stomach like a vise, squeezing so hard until you can hardly breathe
Is this how all choices are like? One or the other?
Must we be forced to conform to the patterns of society, adopt the pretense of the perfect being?
Casting our ballots to support one idea or the other? Like good citizens, or like good conformists?
But really, we don’t have a choice, do we?
Lies roll off deceitfully truthful tongues–we can be whatever, whoever we want, we can believe what we feel, we can be daring, artistic, different
But can we?
Or is it just the people who have the strength, drawing from a drying well with every moment of their lives must live with the terrible consequences of being something that doesn’t fit into the perfect little box?
The little boxes lined up in rows
The ways of this world crisscross across the oceans and deserts
Like tripwire, one step and you are caught
Wishful thinking
I went up to the Presidential ballot. I began looking through the candidates, and realized that there was no hope left in this world.
I do not know what ballot means, but if you use a e instead of a o you get ballet witch is my favourite thing
The council bickers, and bickers, and bickers, and when they can no longer bicker they bring their bickering to a subcommittee that bickers so long as the boys upstairs can’t – and if by some terrible act of fate the subcommittee fails to come to a decision, they bounce it back at the council who begin their bickering again with a new fervor.
The noise is uproarious. Arguments flying from one corner to the next, devils advocates and cherubs unidentifiable in the whole mess. There’s too much identity to gain, too much face to lose. Indecisiveness is a plague on the consciousness, and with a sick heart I ask myself: who I will elect to represent myself today?
Ballot, ballot, it bounces like a basketball – the word does, ballot. Quiet in the room for now though; I cannot say it out loud though I want to have it sound out like that basketball dropped in an empty gymnasium. My bedmate is asleep.
makes me think of the hanging chad sketches they did on SNL after W won the election. I see images in my minds eye of re white and blue of those I voted stickers, and sickeningly of trump’s smiling face, how horrible.
The ballot fell like a stone to the bottom of the box. Malley spun on her heels; smirking over the vote for herself.
It wasn’t my idea to enter the race in the first place, but now I was in the gym smuggling ballots in under my shirt. Stuffing the ballot boxes. Really?
a ballot is a printed form used in voting
funny if i
take back the words i live by
inspired to try
by the lies in their eyes
busted ballot
unspoken promises broken
forever live in the mire or
tired by the lying of
This is a right and a secret.
Everyone has the liberty to do it, to make a decision and to mark what seems better to them.
A secret
it is.
A ballot is something people use to put in votes for an election.
I was asked to enter my name into a ballot to find out if I would be selected to represent my class. I was really nervous and worried that I wouldn’t be selected because it was something I really wanted to do. I thought I would be good at the role but there were many others who also wanted to be selected. I thought I wouldn’t sleep that night but was really tired so fell asleep straight away.
A place to drop decisions. Some secret scrap of paper where a name is written. Choosing sides, taking an informative stance, sweeping things beneath the proverbial rug. Something deemed honorary of society. I’ll scribble negative zero, I’ll take my chances.
I don’t like to vote and honestly idont care about any of this politic stuff anyway
A ballot is a i have no clue i think its like a log to be honest you like sit on it or something………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
I always wondered if he ended up with the Suffragette from Suffragette City.
They were handing out the ballot. Everyone had to fill it out, and if they didn’t they were stared at and judged endlessly. It was a simple thing. All you had to do was circle the person you voted for. It was only that and nothing more. Fa
it was so unfair when us women couldn’t vote because we were considered as a slave for men. All we did was clean and treated like a slave.
The ballot was cast. The die was thrown. There was nothing she could do but wait. Which, of course, was the thing she was worst at. The minutes ticked by. It was going to take more than mere minutes, but you couldn’t convince her of that. She sat in constant suspension.
Voting takes place every so often and it drives me crazy that people don’t vote. Oh my vote doesn’t matter. Oh I don;t like the options. But voting leaves the decision to others. Then you complain about how you things are run when you chose not to vote. I mean take Colin Kapernick who protests the National Anthem but doesn’t take the time to go vote. WTF!
a piece of paper that indicates a winner or loser. something that has been used for many years. and will be continued to be used for many more. a winner and a loser.
It was a year in which ballot’s may have destroyed our country, but let’s look at the bright side. We are still living, breathing, and getting to be a part of this awesome thing called LIFE. A small piece of paper does not determine who you are as a person or who you are going to be in the future. Do not let the decisions of others affect how you live out each of the small miracles that life has to offer each day.
It is recorded.
A small sheet of paper, a private piece of paper, it holds a few marks set by my hand that speak beyond themselves. This is how I feel, this is what I believe, I am this person. I truly (think) I am this person.
And I pray if it is ever discovered, it will not be used against me.
The poetry of it all- only in my little box can I be honest, put things clearly, while they are jumbled and blurred outside. How a few words can represent an entire person; how they’re used, their tone, their effect. If seen, you will never need to show your face or say another word; who you are will have already been decided and such conviction will not be overturned by further evidence.
Here I record what is more important; do I fight for myself, or the good of all? I can never hope for both- can I even achieve one? Only a dark smudge remains where there once was a middle ground, some set of lukewarm compromises.
I’ve already written it down, and even if I tear the paper to bits, burn them, swallow them, their truth is still a fire in my veins, a virus in my stomach.
Is there no satifactory nomination?
Great ¡V I should certainly pronounce, impressed with your website. I had no trouble navigating through all the tabs as well as related information ended up being truly easy to do to access. I recently found what I hoped for before you know it in the least. Quite unusual. Is likely to appreciate it for those who add forums or something, website theme . a tones way for your client to communicate. Excellent task..
Do not set fire to the ballot box. Do not tear down the protesters’ signs. Leave your engines running, but your cars idle. Do not mark a martyr’s body with tire treads.
Be mindful of who interferes with what. A dictator is only friends for a day. Then the champagne you drink from the flute is poisoned, and you sleep while the republic withers away.
I saw her in the front row. I knew I had to meet with her. Hi, I saw you sitting here and thought tha
We had to put names into a ballot to decide which parents would go on camp. The funny thing is that we knew exactly who we wanted to go but had to go through this process in order for the parents to feel it was fair. Not a very fair process at all. I’m sure we have all been in this situation when we have felt the outcome was decided prior to the vote.
We had too many parents wanting to come to camp so had to put it to a ballot. We all know that the reality is, we pick who we want and the ballot system is a farce. If only it was as simple as drawing a few names out of a box. There are so many specific qualities needed for parents on camp. We need to look at their skills, their personalities, how they relate to others, how they manage their own children and quite possibly the other children. Do they have any convictions?