Heros…. Don’t try to be a hero, cause they’re all dead. That’s what I heard but I tend to disagree. There are tons of heros that roam the Earth. Many of whom saved lives with a simple hello never knowing the impact that they had on the person they interacted with for only seconds in a lifetime.
It wasn’t enough, being hero in his own mind, listening to soundtrack music during his day and imagining he was a spy, sneaking forgeries into the stamped documents. He just didn’t want to do a job any other literate human being could do. He wanted a reason he was here.
He’s not the hero that she’s been dreaming about. He’s skinny, small, narrow-waisted. His teeth have grown in crooked and so have his expectations in life. He’s used to not getting what he so desperately wants, and she thinks she loves him all the more because of it.
My hero – her – I can speak of…never. “Who sent you this?” my mother asked and I told her, “An old friend…” and that’s all I could tell. It’s difficult to lie. I like to avoid it…so I avoid mentioning her. It’s difficult to be the only one in my life who knows of her greatness.
Cargo pants covered his legs, not tights. T-shirts were what he slipped on in the morning, and they bore no insignia. There was no cape upon his back to catch the wind. His smile was what masked his pain. He did not stand tall, but bent in on himself, as if he could somehow keep himself together that way. He was beaten and bruised. He was flawed. Beautifully broken. But he was still here. And he would never know that he was my hero.
We don’t need another hero. We’ve got plenty of ’em.
Coming home every day from two different wars.
And all of those guys who play sports.
They’s heroes too.
I think I’m going to be a guitar hero.
That’s the ticket.
Heroic, I’d say.
the citizens hold a long spinning breath
beating against their throat
tied to the man 10,000 feet in the air
he dangles like a copper angel,
a cousin of the clouds
we watch as he sizzles gravity
and wait
for him
to fall.
i dont have a hero. i dont why. I should have, i had one. But for some reason I no longer do. I just dont admire anyone real. I do admire people. Fictitious people. Like the doctor from doctor who,sam and dean from supernatural, hermione from harry potter, sherlock holmes, i dont know.
I think I fell backwards, but that’s all I really remember. There was shouting and the sound of a train and something was wrong to my right side and down, I know that. Mostly I just remember the sound of the train. It was just shaking and noise all around my, coming from inside my head, felt like. Not really like a noise but like a feeling, rumbling out from the dark part of my chest, just above my stomach, and pushing fast and strong along my sternum and into my neck and then jerking my head around to that wrong thing on my right, and down–made by the people, I guess, in hindsight. Like they were all rumbling, or vibrating, in tune, and all those waves just wobbled around everything else and converged on that one spot. I think they carried me, too, because, now that I think about it, I was down there, with the trouble. Shoulders hurt; I must have lifted something. Then legs; maybe I jumped? That’s all I remember. Then rumbling, rumbling, squealing and…. that’s it.
Hero. I had an argument with a friend; what is the difference between a hero and a vigilante. I said that a hero is someone who works to make themselves a better person to help others. I like my answer.
I’m just playing hero. The game starts now, and it ends with my heroic death, tangled up in a blanket cloak, and a cohort of people around me, some of whom I have tried to save. If only I could have saved myself.
There was nothing antagonistic about him. He was not the killer everyone thought him to be, could never be the one who slashed children’s bodies and the wives of old men. Could never touch someone without invitation.
They didn’t know it, but he was their hero.
I was a hero to them. Just like I’d always wanted to be! The children clapped and cheered. Several people gave me hand grenades. I whooped like a warrior and Malotov-cocktailed the building. Shards of glass went into the crowd, but nobody cared. The library was burning. A fierce something took hold of my chest and arms and I didn’t stop with the cocktails, or the gasoline, or the orgy we had on the steps later.
Who is your favorite hero? What kind of superpowers do you want to have? They are really helpful and useful. Those superheroes you know and love.
“Hey, watch out!” Somebody said then I was knocked out on the ground.
” What’s the big idea?” I said as I got up.
“Sorry about that!” Some guy said getting the football on my feet.
“Oh! So you are my savior then! ” I said smiling.
“So, you’re not mad at me?” The guy asked.
” You saved me, right? So thanks.”
“What’s your name? I’m Michelle.” I asked holding out my hand.
“David”
” Thanks, you’re my hero.”
And that’s the start of a new friendship.
Through the ravenous cavern the rapids surged. Caman bearing their
carnivorous teeth. The ferocious sound of the falls awaiting me with it’s companion of death. With a searing sound he saved me, flying and swooping down from the outreaces of his glorious halls, a distance of eternities travelled in a heart beat to save me. Who am I that he would act so swiftly. Who is He, my hero?
i think of a superhero. But I’m also sitting here, “babysitting” and watching my boyfriend do this job for me. I’m on pinterest, reading things that slacktivists have pinned. It’s all ways to be a hero. You don’t have to wear a cape.
He wanted to be a hero to his son, but this was not what he had in mind. His son insisted, however, so he got dressed. When his son’s friends arrived for the birthday party, he would jump out of the closet and show everyone that yes, Jimmy’s daddy IS Superman.
Was she the one he had sought after, late on those cold, endless, paranoia ridden nights? Was this the end of his two year mental incarceration? Impossible, he thought, girls like that only exist in the mind.
A hero is not just a spiderman, superman, or a batman. A hero is someone who saves someone in distress, someone like me. I can stop people from crying rivers as long as the Nile, and to make people smile as bright as the sun. That in my mind is a hero.
hero superman superwoman lost in some kind of maze the hero doesn’t always look like they’re heroic but i really don’t like this word watching the timer go and thinking that i don’t know at my age who my heroes are tick tick
I dont want to be a hero, I dont want to be a savilian, and I dont want to be the villian. I want to be all three thats why I right so I can do the most curagous, cowardly, evil, and insane things.
He was someone. The best. One who would have given his life for a child. But he gave it to me, letting me take care of it, and then he lied on the floor and remained still and silent, hero only in my memory.
I remember having to write crappy essays about heroes and heroism throughout elementary school. I thought they were dumb. I wasn’t sure who my hero was.
I have so many heroes I haven’t even met. Those people who act with such kindness it spreads out in waves around them. Those people who fight an endless battle toward a better world. Those people who dedicate their lives to making something beautiful, because they believe, beyond everything else, in how beautiful the world can be.
After I had saved her, everyone turned to look at me in awe. I knew what they were going to regard me as a ‘hero’, but inside I didn’t feel like one. I felt empty; unworthy of a title.
My hero is many people. My mom, Ms.Turner, so many people. But I’ve never thought of a hero like batman or super man. Hero’s are real people. People who you look up to
The hero is not that one I care about. What appeals to me is the person who creates the chaos, the one who disrupts the flow of the world. They are the ones that will teach us. They are the ones who are going to make us question our views, our morality, our sanity.
there they are
throwing one person under the bus after another
and all i can do is watch
like standing on a sidewalk outside of a burning house
it has been so long since
I have felt like I had the strength to stand up for myself
Let alone another
I’m just not a hero
anymore
how nice when you feel that you get someone like hero for you… but how much is nice, it’s so hard to find that hero unfortunately
– and to be the hero for someone that means you really know a part of a goal in your life
but…………(many things should say about that)
“You’re a hero, Cara,”
“Stop SAYING that,” she said, turning her eyes away. “It’s not true and…I’ve never known you to lie,”
“Cara, you saved these people, ALL of them, with no thought for yourself. What does that make you, if not a hero?”
When at last she spoke, her words were quiet. “I didn’t do it for them,”
“It doesn’t matter why-”
“Of course it does!” she exploded, rounding on her. “Of course it matters,”
My hero stands less than six feet, though she would stand taller if not for the crashing waves at her back. She carries no weapons, but she dons heavy armour for a battle that does not come. And when she comes home from a long-over war with herself, she sheds the metal plates and climbs under the covers of our bed. And here she is peaceful, my knight full of twinkling lights, and we both fall asleep to the sounds of the ocean, not to the screams of battered men.
WANTED:
An individual with integrity to do the right thing just because it’s the right thing to do. A person who will listen to others for better understanding and who will look others in the eyes to increase awareness of the feelings of others around them — empathy. A man, woman, or child who can act outwardly the way they believe inwardly.
We have a little hero running through San Francisco, saving Lou Seal at the Giants stadium and stopping villains with their zany plans. To see the mini caped crusader bound across the Embarcadero is a glorious sight to behold, as our city becomes Gotham for a little while to fulfill a youthful dream.
This is the kind of thing that restores some faith into humanity. It shows that we are one people, desperate to make a child a hero for a day just to see a streak of happiness paint its way across a masked sanguine face.
Be your own hero/heroine. There are times when the world leaves you alone, expecting you to fight for yourself until the last drop of your blood. Those are the moments where you can truly prove them wrong, that you can do this, with your own hands. No one can save you, honey.
I wanted so badly to be the good guy, the safe place, the one who made all the monsters go away. But instead of being your hero I became your nightmare, and now I’m the one you’re trying to escape from.
Life isn’t like the cinematic melodrama of the movies, let alone the sap of music videos starring pretty faces. But isn’t it nice to believe those illusions?
There’s the accidental hero. The reluctant hero. The anti-hero. The idiotic one. The smash-now-ask-questions-later hero. The straight up fairytale hero, all chivalrous and honorable.
Heros…. Don’t try to be a hero, cause they’re all dead. That’s what I heard but I tend to disagree. There are tons of heros that roam the Earth. Many of whom saved lives with a simple hello never knowing the impact that they had on the person they interacted with for only seconds in a lifetime.
It wasn’t enough, being hero in his own mind, listening to soundtrack music during his day and imagining he was a spy, sneaking forgeries into the stamped documents. He just didn’t want to do a job any other literate human being could do. He wanted a reason he was here.
He’s not the hero that she’s been dreaming about. He’s skinny, small, narrow-waisted. His teeth have grown in crooked and so have his expectations in life. He’s used to not getting what he so desperately wants, and she thinks she loves him all the more because of it.
My hero – her – I can speak of…never. “Who sent you this?” my mother asked and I told her, “An old friend…” and that’s all I could tell. It’s difficult to lie. I like to avoid it…so I avoid mentioning her. It’s difficult to be the only one in my life who knows of her greatness.
Cargo pants covered his legs, not tights. T-shirts were what he slipped on in the morning, and they bore no insignia. There was no cape upon his back to catch the wind. His smile was what masked his pain. He did not stand tall, but bent in on himself, as if he could somehow keep himself together that way. He was beaten and bruised. He was flawed. Beautifully broken. But he was still here. And he would never know that he was my hero.
One word is enough for all of us.
We don’t need another hero. We’ve got plenty of ’em.
Coming home every day from two different wars.
And all of those guys who play sports.
They’s heroes too.
I think I’m going to be a guitar hero.
That’s the ticket.
Heroic, I’d say.
the citizens hold a long spinning breath
beating against their throat
tied to the man 10,000 feet in the air
he dangles like a copper angel,
a cousin of the clouds
we watch as he sizzles gravity
and wait
for him
to fall.
i dont have a hero. i dont why. I should have, i had one. But for some reason I no longer do. I just dont admire anyone real. I do admire people. Fictitious people. Like the doctor from doctor who,sam and dean from supernatural, hermione from harry potter, sherlock holmes, i dont know.
I think I fell backwards, but that’s all I really remember. There was shouting and the sound of a train and something was wrong to my right side and down, I know that. Mostly I just remember the sound of the train. It was just shaking and noise all around my, coming from inside my head, felt like. Not really like a noise but like a feeling, rumbling out from the dark part of my chest, just above my stomach, and pushing fast and strong along my sternum and into my neck and then jerking my head around to that wrong thing on my right, and down–made by the people, I guess, in hindsight. Like they were all rumbling, or vibrating, in tune, and all those waves just wobbled around everything else and converged on that one spot. I think they carried me, too, because, now that I think about it, I was down there, with the trouble. Shoulders hurt; I must have lifted something. Then legs; maybe I jumped? That’s all I remember. Then rumbling, rumbling, squealing and…. that’s it.
Hero. I had an argument with a friend; what is the difference between a hero and a vigilante. I said that a hero is someone who works to make themselves a better person to help others. I like my answer.
“Its okay.” He said
And that was the day I knew I would live.
I’m just playing hero. The game starts now, and it ends with my heroic death, tangled up in a blanket cloak, and a cohort of people around me, some of whom I have tried to save. If only I could have saved myself.
There was nothing antagonistic about him. He was not the killer everyone thought him to be, could never be the one who slashed children’s bodies and the wives of old men. Could never touch someone without invitation.
They didn’t know it, but he was their hero.
I was a hero to them. Just like I’d always wanted to be! The children clapped and cheered. Several people gave me hand grenades. I whooped like a warrior and Malotov-cocktailed the building. Shards of glass went into the crowd, but nobody cared. The library was burning. A fierce something took hold of my chest and arms and I didn’t stop with the cocktails, or the gasoline, or the orgy we had on the steps later.
Who is your favorite hero? What kind of superpowers do you want to have? They are really helpful and useful. Those superheroes you know and love.
“Hey, watch out!” Somebody said then I was knocked out on the ground.
” What’s the big idea?” I said as I got up.
“Sorry about that!” Some guy said getting the football on my feet.
“Oh! So you are my savior then! ” I said smiling.
“So, you’re not mad at me?” The guy asked.
” You saved me, right? So thanks.”
“What’s your name? I’m Michelle.” I asked holding out my hand.
“David”
” Thanks, you’re my hero.”
And that’s the start of a new friendship.
Through the ravenous cavern the rapids surged. Caman bearing their
carnivorous teeth. The ferocious sound of the falls awaiting me with it’s companion of death. With a searing sound he saved me, flying and swooping down from the outreaces of his glorious halls, a distance of eternities travelled in a heart beat to save me. Who am I that he would act so swiftly. Who is He, my hero?
i think of a superhero. But I’m also sitting here, “babysitting” and watching my boyfriend do this job for me. I’m on pinterest, reading things that slacktivists have pinned. It’s all ways to be a hero. You don’t have to wear a cape.
He wanted to be a hero to his son, but this was not what he had in mind. His son insisted, however, so he got dressed. When his son’s friends arrived for the birthday party, he would jump out of the closet and show everyone that yes, Jimmy’s daddy IS Superman.
Was she the one he had sought after, late on those cold, endless, paranoia ridden nights? Was this the end of his two year mental incarceration? Impossible, he thought, girls like that only exist in the mind.
A hero is not just a spiderman, superman, or a batman. A hero is someone who saves someone in distress, someone like me. I can stop people from crying rivers as long as the Nile, and to make people smile as bright as the sun. That in my mind is a hero.
hero superman superwoman lost in some kind of maze the hero doesn’t always look like they’re heroic but i really don’t like this word watching the timer go and thinking that i don’t know at my age who my heroes are tick tick
I dont want to be a hero, I dont want to be a savilian, and I dont want to be the villian. I want to be all three thats why I right so I can do the most curagous, cowardly, evil, and insane things.
He was someone. The best. One who would have given his life for a child. But he gave it to me, letting me take care of it, and then he lied on the floor and remained still and silent, hero only in my memory.
I remember having to write crappy essays about heroes and heroism throughout elementary school. I thought they were dumb. I wasn’t sure who my hero was.
I have so many heroes I haven’t even met. Those people who act with such kindness it spreads out in waves around them. Those people who fight an endless battle toward a better world. Those people who dedicate their lives to making something beautiful, because they believe, beyond everything else, in how beautiful the world can be.
After I had saved her, everyone turned to look at me in awe. I knew what they were going to regard me as a ‘hero’, but inside I didn’t feel like one. I felt empty; unworthy of a title.
He picked a glob of ear gunk from his head and stuffed it into his jean pocket. I watched, licking an ice cream cone. I was in hopelessly in love.
My hero is many people. My mom, Ms.Turner, so many people. But I’ve never thought of a hero like batman or super man. Hero’s are real people. People who you look up to
He had to become his own hero in order to get help from the other.
The hero is not that one I care about. What appeals to me is the person who creates the chaos, the one who disrupts the flow of the world. They are the ones that will teach us. They are the ones who are going to make us question our views, our morality, our sanity.
there they are
throwing one person under the bus after another
and all i can do is watch
like standing on a sidewalk outside of a burning house
it has been so long since
I have felt like I had the strength to stand up for myself
Let alone another
I’m just not a hero
anymore
how nice when you feel that you get someone like hero for you… but how much is nice, it’s so hard to find that hero unfortunately
– and to be the hero for someone that means you really know a part of a goal in your life
but…………(many things should say about that)
My hero! How many times have we heard that at the movies?! Such a cliche. I don’t have a hero. Do you?
“You’re a hero, Cara,”
“Stop SAYING that,” she said, turning her eyes away. “It’s not true and…I’ve never known you to lie,”
“Cara, you saved these people, ALL of them, with no thought for yourself. What does that make you, if not a hero?”
When at last she spoke, her words were quiet. “I didn’t do it for them,”
“It doesn’t matter why-”
“Of course it does!” she exploded, rounding on her. “Of course it matters,”
My hero stands less than six feet, though she would stand taller if not for the crashing waves at her back. She carries no weapons, but she dons heavy armour for a battle that does not come. And when she comes home from a long-over war with herself, she sheds the metal plates and climbs under the covers of our bed. And here she is peaceful, my knight full of twinkling lights, and we both fall asleep to the sounds of the ocean, not to the screams of battered men.
WANTED:
An individual with integrity to do the right thing just because it’s the right thing to do. A person who will listen to others for better understanding and who will look others in the eyes to increase awareness of the feelings of others around them — empathy. A man, woman, or child who can act outwardly the way they believe inwardly.
WANTED:
A hero
We have a little hero running through San Francisco, saving Lou Seal at the Giants stadium and stopping villains with their zany plans. To see the mini caped crusader bound across the Embarcadero is a glorious sight to behold, as our city becomes Gotham for a little while to fulfill a youthful dream.
This is the kind of thing that restores some faith into humanity. It shows that we are one people, desperate to make a child a hero for a day just to see a streak of happiness paint its way across a masked sanguine face.
Be your own hero/heroine. There are times when the world leaves you alone, expecting you to fight for yourself until the last drop of your blood. Those are the moments where you can truly prove them wrong, that you can do this, with your own hands. No one can save you, honey.
I wanted so badly to be the good guy, the safe place, the one who made all the monsters go away. But instead of being your hero I became your nightmare, and now I’m the one you’re trying to escape from.
Life isn’t like the cinematic melodrama of the movies, let alone the sap of music videos starring pretty faces. But isn’t it nice to believe those illusions?
There’s the accidental hero. The reluctant hero. The anti-hero. The idiotic one. The smash-now-ask-questions-later hero. The straight up fairytale hero, all chivalrous and honorable.
And as for me?
I’m just the narrator.
And we don’t get pulled into the stories, do we?
Maybe just a little.