I brushed my hair this morning. Brushed is saying that you already did that because it says “ed”. so you brushed your hair earlier that day. That is the definition of brushed.
She brushed back her hair as she once again leaned down to vomit. No boy or friend holding hair back for her. She didn’t do that shit. If she was wasted, she took care of herself. If you let someone take care of you you’re giving them an opportunity to take advantage of you. Especially in a state like this. Which she often was lately. Which there was nothing wrong with, bud, don’t get any ideas, she thought.
As i brushed my dog I noticed something on his back and when i went to get a closer look i saw that is was a cut. The cut seemed to be from another animal but I didn’t know what animal leaves four parallel lines of cuts.
I brushed her hair, the tangly hair that we can only brush when it’s soaking wet, seconds after she steps out of the shower. The hair is long, and it used to be curly when she was a baby, but now it’s just wavy. It snarls throughout the day and it snarls throughout the night. We used to pretend that the snarl bugs had a party while she was sleeping because she fed them cucumbers.
While walking through the crowded streets of New York City, I brushed against a man who looked familiar. He must have felt the same way because he stopped and said, “Excuse me, I believe I know you from somewhere before.”
The guy in the white car brushed me. I was riding my bike in the bike lane – and he came to close, because he was avoiding another car. Good thinking. Brush the cyclist, because it’ll do less harm to your car, forget, that it’ll do more harm to your karma…
If you looked close enough, you could see the globs of paint rising from the old canvas. I put my face two inches away from the old painting just to see if I could make out the detail of where the brush left its impressions in the colors.
His fingers brushed the hair from her face, and lightly he brushed her lips with his, as if to brush off all the pain he had caused. In the end she felt nothing for there was nothing to brush away.
he brushed her hair gently, not wanting her to ever leave his side. it was in nights like this when he felt better about himself, just when he had her close wrapped in his arms holding her closer than ever.
It was as if someone had taken a paintbrush, and added careful dabs of purple and blue and green over her face – adding it in layers, slowly, until the paint was so thick it had caused her skin to swell up and made it almost impossible for her to open her right eye.
I took the cloth – soft, fine, slowly dripping with icy water, and wiped it over the bruise, hoping that I, perhaps, could put a new layer of white over whatever had happened.
He was very peculiar about the way he brushed his hair. And his eyebrows. And everything else for that matter. But it was all for the greater good…his beauty. I mean, after all.
I brushed the paint acrjofnglkdfngklfsdmg.,dfhn.m,dfnh.,fxnh.fdsh,mnhgfn mkylfhkfkdglkfnglsnkdgnlakdgnlsngklfnglkfngslmfgsmdngm,ndrg,smdfng,mn,sgnmdamdngmksksfnsakljefkajfanmdsnfmdmhh
Her hair slipped between my fingers as I brushed it with the brush she used on my hair when I was a girl. She is the girl now. Unaware of the complications of life, silent mostly, silver haired, and patiently waiting for each day to end. She seems happy enough, smiles and shows that single dimple, and her eyes…her eyes still twinkle and seem to house a little bit of magic.
when the recurring whisper is so hell bent on destruction
and the time to persevere becomes a strand of twisted woe
her composition entangles love and lustful action
her soul is encased in a coffin of velvet snow
the light brushes mournfully to absorb the crowning reaction
truths river so wistfully dances to her melting song
when the recurring whisper becomes a scream of bruised infraction
from dust stems iniquity where tranquility should belong;
her heart has gone adrift within the souls of right and wrong.
i brushed aside the comments and bit back the tears and walked with my head high. i would rather disappear than show them how i felt, how much i wanted to crumble inside.
Her hair was thick and brittle, raking the brush through it was a chore. Arm forward arm back. Over and over. A light breeze played with the already brushed hair twisting it gently, knotting it further. It was but a futile effort
Brushed my hair this morning but it still felt frizzy. Doesn’t bother brushing it anymore. No one notices anyways. I don’t go out that much, except to school and for work. I don’t even have my own brush, I use my mom’s. Saves money and time. Don’t need to look for mine.
Marco loved brushing his daughter’s hair. It’s a habit. Jean tired once to take over the job. But somehow, both the father and child didn’t allow him to touch the black flowing hair. Jean might think it’s an obsession by now, it’s adorable.
‘It’s not an obsession, Jean.’ The other man object haughtily while running the brush over his daughter’s dark locks.
The two-toned hair man could only roll his eyes in annoyance.
His fingers brushed against the stone and his eyes blurred with tears. He laid the flowers down, standing up to look at the gravestone. ‘Here lies Ethan DeFinnis loving husband and father.’
Brushed my fingertips across steel strings before striking my favorite chord, some movements ya just don’t forget. If you’ve ever spent the idle hours making your own melodies, to say nothing of the ones you sang through the mountain passes, across the plains, and into the foot hills, then you know. For your heart was a little lighter thanks in part to the sun showers and the rainbow that greeted you at the border lands. Yes, it overflows with sweet relief and the melodies tumbled out, one right on top of the other, a babbling brook of stories made into songs.
She picked up the brush and ran it through her smooth chestnut hair. He would be arriving in the limo any minute, flowers in hand, wearing his best suit, all smile as he walked up to the door to greet her.
He brushed past me like wind. A houl piereced the air. Shiver ran down my spine. How could Deigo leave me all alone? He had said i was the new prey. Was I being feed to the wolf as gift to Gods!.
”Help please help!” I yelled and yelled still non came for my resque. My hands and leg were bound.
”I promise to never do the same mistake” How stupid of me to try and capture pictures of the holy tibunal priest commiting sacrifice of a baby. To me it is slaughter while to them it is sacrifies for happiness. ”I beg you dont do this me. I’ll never show my face again”
There was no one to listen my cries. I’m left here to die. “Please God Almighty save me. I don’t wanna die so young” tear rolled down my cheek in utter frustration.
What would happen of my parents? Sean!… will he be able to live without me?
The wind was howling, silently, but steadily. Leaves rustle in the wind, twisting, turning. The air had a subtle scent of wood shaving, and minty toothpaste. The blinking green man of the traffic light seem to move slower today. It was then, he brushed past me.
they brushed lightly
like sleeves of grain
and it seemed ethereal
and vinous
but the rich bodies were
collected
and sown deep in the wet soil
their eyes watched for sweet growth
and were disappointed
I was just brushed aside when I told someone what I was really feeling. I don’t think they meant this, but that is how I felt. Perhaps i should try telling them again. Or maybe it is just in my head that I was brushed aside. Maybe they really did take it seriously and I just perceive it differently. I don’t know.
Kenji sat in silence, staring straight ahead. He brushed a speck of dust off the dashboard of his Lexus, but otherwise remained motionless. Eleven police officers now surrounded his car, but he would not acknowledge them, let alone open the door. He knew they could do nothing without a warrant. He had called his boss, his “oyabun”, and was waiting for him to get their lawyer involved. Then a detective pushed through the uniforms, and tapped on the glass, showing Kenji a sheet of paper. They now had a warrant.
To the naked eye, it was innocent contact, the way their hands brushed as they walked; even the way it caused both girls to smile seemed innocuous. Ducking their heads and hiding their faces behind individual curtains of scarlet and silver, they seemed just like any other pair of sisters.
Of course, if they were, this wouldn’t make a very good story.
A brushed hit my head as I was walking throughout the forest. I walking amidst the flowers and watched as the sun shone through the trees. I had never imagined a more beautiful sight. Then I woke up.
his hands swept over the cool blue of the water, soft as silk. the scaly little creatures hiding ineffectively within it were wooed to the surface, dancing with his fingers in their moony dream, hypnotized by its gentleness. they kissed forgiveness on his knuckles, said “i will love you despite the way you tried to cage me.”
Teenage fingers brush against the fabric of the Universe; their Universe. It is pure as milk, soft as the skin of a newborn. It is perfection, “every parent’s dream”. Digits clutch the silken sheet, unaware of the world outside the shelter of Mother’s arms.
Teenage fingers destroy the fabric of the Universe; their Universe. Underneath lie the dust of the ancients, the cries of rebellion and angst. The duties of adulthood. Every star in the night sky flashing bright into the unknown. A single figure in the distance, tentatively labelled “consciousness”. In their struggle, they walk forward.
Teenage fingers brush against the fabric of the Future; their Future. It is cold and uncertain. And they surrender.
Brushed is to be touched lightly or to sweep
If your mom said did you brush your hair? You would probaly say yes i brushed my hair.
You brushed you hair.
When somebody has taken a brush and run it through hair to untangle it-
I have to brush my hair in the morning
brushed means to be touched lightly on your shoulder or smething
I brushed my hair this morning. Brushed is saying that you already did that because it says “ed”. so you brushed your hair earlier that day. That is the definition of brushed.
She brushed back her hair as she once again leaned down to vomit. No boy or friend holding hair back for her. She didn’t do that shit. If she was wasted, she took care of herself. If you let someone take care of you you’re giving them an opportunity to take advantage of you. Especially in a state like this. Which she often was lately. Which there was nothing wrong with, bud, don’t get any ideas, she thought.
As i brushed my dog I noticed something on his back and when i went to get a closer look i saw that is was a cut. The cut seemed to be from another animal but I didn’t know what animal leaves four parallel lines of cuts.
I brushed her hair, the tangly hair that we can only brush when it’s soaking wet, seconds after she steps out of the shower. The hair is long, and it used to be curly when she was a baby, but now it’s just wavy. It snarls throughout the day and it snarls throughout the night. We used to pretend that the snarl bugs had a party while she was sleeping because she fed them cucumbers.
He brushed against me and instantly my cheeks turned the color of coral tulips.
She brushed off the hatred of the world and grew to adore it.
While walking through the crowded streets of New York City, I brushed against a man who looked familiar. He must have felt the same way because he stopped and said, “Excuse me, I believe I know you from somewhere before.”
The guy in the white car brushed me. I was riding my bike in the bike lane – and he came to close, because he was avoiding another car. Good thinking. Brush the cyclist, because it’ll do less harm to your car, forget, that it’ll do more harm to your karma…
If you looked close enough, you could see the globs of paint rising from the old canvas. I put my face two inches away from the old painting just to see if I could make out the detail of where the brush left its impressions in the colors.
His fingers brushed the hair from her face, and lightly he brushed her lips with his, as if to brush off all the pain he had caused. In the end she felt nothing for there was nothing to brush away.
he brushed her hair gently, not wanting her to ever leave his side. it was in nights like this when he felt better about himself, just when he had her close wrapped in his arms holding her closer than ever.
I already did this one, so I’ll do a haiku….
Pigeon-holed outcast
Separated from kindness
Reached out with his gun
It was as if someone had taken a paintbrush, and added careful dabs of purple and blue and green over her face – adding it in layers, slowly, until the paint was so thick it had caused her skin to swell up and made it almost impossible for her to open her right eye.
I took the cloth – soft, fine, slowly dripping with icy water, and wiped it over the bruise, hoping that I, perhaps, could put a new layer of white over whatever had happened.
If only she would tell me how she got it.
If only she would tell me anything at all.
He was very peculiar about the way he brushed his hair. And his eyebrows. And everything else for that matter. But it was all for the greater good…his beauty. I mean, after all.
I brushed the paint acrjofnglkdfngklfsdmg.,dfhn.m,dfnh.,fxnh.fdsh,mnhgfn mkylfhkfkdglkfnglsnkdgnlakdgnlsngklfnglkfngslmfgsmdngm,ndrg,smdfng,mn,sgnmdamdngmksksfnsakljefkajfanmdsnfmdmhh
Her hair slipped between my fingers as I brushed it with the brush she used on my hair when I was a girl. She is the girl now. Unaware of the complications of life, silent mostly, silver haired, and patiently waiting for each day to end. She seems happy enough, smiles and shows that single dimple, and her eyes…her eyes still twinkle and seem to house a little bit of magic.
I brushed past the man without him even noticing… or so I thought.
without warning, his fist connected head on with my face.
when the recurring whisper is so hell bent on destruction
and the time to persevere becomes a strand of twisted woe
her composition entangles love and lustful action
her soul is encased in a coffin of velvet snow
the light brushes mournfully to absorb the crowning reaction
truths river so wistfully dances to her melting song
when the recurring whisper becomes a scream of bruised infraction
from dust stems iniquity where tranquility should belong;
her heart has gone adrift within the souls of right and wrong.
i brushed aside the comments and bit back the tears and walked with my head high. i would rather disappear than show them how i felt, how much i wanted to crumble inside.
Her hair was thick and brittle, raking the brush through it was a chore. Arm forward arm back. Over and over. A light breeze played with the already brushed hair twisting it gently, knotting it further. It was but a futile effort
Brushed my hair this morning but it still felt frizzy. Doesn’t bother brushing it anymore. No one notices anyways. I don’t go out that much, except to school and for work. I don’t even have my own brush, I use my mom’s. Saves money and time. Don’t need to look for mine.
I brushed the tears out of my eyes, lucky it was raining, less noticeable that way. the scars from yesterday still stung.
Marco loved brushing his daughter’s hair. It’s a habit. Jean tired once to take over the job. But somehow, both the father and child didn’t allow him to touch the black flowing hair. Jean might think it’s an obsession by now, it’s adorable.
‘It’s not an obsession, Jean.’ The other man object haughtily while running the brush over his daughter’s dark locks.
The two-toned hair man could only roll his eyes in annoyance.
His fingers brushed against the stone and his eyes blurred with tears. He laid the flowers down, standing up to look at the gravestone. ‘Here lies Ethan DeFinnis loving husband and father.’
She brushed aside the snide that bitch gave her. Who is she anyway!
Brushed my fingertips across steel strings before striking my favorite chord, some movements ya just don’t forget. If you’ve ever spent the idle hours making your own melodies, to say nothing of the ones you sang through the mountain passes, across the plains, and into the foot hills, then you know. For your heart was a little lighter thanks in part to the sun showers and the rainbow that greeted you at the border lands. Yes, it overflows with sweet relief and the melodies tumbled out, one right on top of the other, a babbling brook of stories made into songs.
She picked up the brush and ran it through her smooth chestnut hair. He would be arriving in the limo any minute, flowers in hand, wearing his best suit, all smile as he walked up to the door to greet her.
He brushed past me like wind. A houl piereced the air. Shiver ran down my spine. How could Deigo leave me all alone? He had said i was the new prey. Was I being feed to the wolf as gift to Gods!.
”Help please help!” I yelled and yelled still non came for my resque. My hands and leg were bound.
”I promise to never do the same mistake” How stupid of me to try and capture pictures of the holy tibunal priest commiting sacrifice of a baby. To me it is slaughter while to them it is sacrifies for happiness. ”I beg you dont do this me. I’ll never show my face again”
There was no one to listen my cries. I’m left here to die. “Please God Almighty save me. I don’t wanna die so young” tear rolled down my cheek in utter frustration.
What would happen of my parents? Sean!… will he be able to live without me?
The wind was howling, silently, but steadily. Leaves rustle in the wind, twisting, turning. The air had a subtle scent of wood shaving, and minty toothpaste. The blinking green man of the traffic light seem to move slower today. It was then, he brushed past me.
they brushed lightly
like sleeves of grain
and it seemed ethereal
and vinous
but the rich bodies were
collected
and sown deep in the wet soil
their eyes watched for sweet growth
and were disappointed
I was just brushed aside when I told someone what I was really feeling. I don’t think they meant this, but that is how I felt. Perhaps i should try telling them again. Or maybe it is just in my head that I was brushed aside. Maybe they really did take it seriously and I just perceive it differently. I don’t know.
Kenji sat in silence, staring straight ahead. He brushed a speck of dust off the dashboard of his Lexus, but otherwise remained motionless. Eleven police officers now surrounded his car, but he would not acknowledge them, let alone open the door. He knew they could do nothing without a warrant. He had called his boss, his “oyabun”, and was waiting for him to get their lawyer involved. Then a detective pushed through the uniforms, and tapped on the glass, showing Kenji a sheet of paper. They now had a warrant.
To the naked eye, it was innocent contact, the way their hands brushed as they walked; even the way it caused both girls to smile seemed innocuous. Ducking their heads and hiding their faces behind individual curtains of scarlet and silver, they seemed just like any other pair of sisters.
Of course, if they were, this wouldn’t make a very good story.
Something that barely touches you. A light soft touch that catches your attention. Something that goes over or reviews something.
A brushed hit my head as I was walking throughout the forest. I walking amidst the flowers and watched as the sun shone through the trees. I had never imagined a more beautiful sight. Then I woke up.
his hands swept over the cool blue of the water, soft as silk. the scaly little creatures hiding ineffectively within it were wooed to the surface, dancing with his fingers in their moony dream, hypnotized by its gentleness. they kissed forgiveness on his knuckles, said “i will love you despite the way you tried to cage me.”
Teenage fingers brush against the fabric of the Universe; their Universe. It is pure as milk, soft as the skin of a newborn. It is perfection, “every parent’s dream”. Digits clutch the silken sheet, unaware of the world outside the shelter of Mother’s arms.
Teenage fingers destroy the fabric of the Universe; their Universe. Underneath lie the dust of the ancients, the cries of rebellion and angst. The duties of adulthood. Every star in the night sky flashing bright into the unknown. A single figure in the distance, tentatively labelled “consciousness”. In their struggle, they walk forward.
Teenage fingers brush against the fabric of the Future; their Future. It is cold and uncertain. And they surrender.