harm’s way. hot bullets hushing waves, ducking for cover, rolling into things. Grass spritzing your face. Background boom clap. Crawl like a caterpillar to the basement dugout. More bullets whizz by. Headfirst down the stairs.
You believed I was doing more harm than good, throwing away my education, in your words, for an RV and a video camera. And that was fine; you could believe anything you wanted. In the end, I was the one editing fragment upon fragment of documentary, reliving the local stops, bars, and laughs with strangers. I was the one baking my heart in the desert of Arizona while cooling my brain along the Atlantic.
His words
Her words
they’re relative
the combinations
quantity
syntax
all relative
double meanings
accidental interpretations
repeated silent citations
No harm done
No harm done
Right?
The everlasting love that I have for you is beautiful. Crippling at times – but beautiful. I never wanted anything as bad as I want you. I need you to open your heart to me, just a little bit wider. I need to know what harmed you. I need to know so I can help you fight it. I just want to be the rock you grip when the waves get too heavy.
The most important thing for me was that he stayed out of harms way. I was a loose cannon. Who knew what I would do from day today. I could be happy one second and have disappeared the next. He loved me and I loved him. But I had to protect him from the inconsistency of me, and, before I knew it, he had forgotten about whatever it was we had and I was stuck here wishing I had done things differently
It hurt, the darkness. It seeped in at the edges, filling my eyes with black. The pain of a black soul, of a black heart, it was too much. The darkness was there, the light wasn’t, and neither was I.
There is no harm for someone offering you a helping hand. Don’t reject them. They were simply trying to be nice. What’s harmful is your rejection. That “no” and frown. They are not the best reply to a caring voice.
as Lennie from Of Mice And Men said, I didn’t mean any harm. Who knew things could get so out of hand. I didn’t mean for things to get so hectic. i didnt mean any harm
It hurt, the dark. It leached through my eyes and into my soul, filling me with desperation. It hurt me and I couldn’t do anything, because there was no light, and I wasn’t really there.
She wouldn’t do this, would she? Would she really harm her only brother; the one that has been caring for her all these years after their parents passed away? He’s been doing everything he can to take care of her, and now she wants him dead.
I didn’t want to harm her, but i had to put her in danger’s way. she’d have to understand. I KNOW she’d agree, if she could.
It’s difficult to make decisions for the braindead on the eve of humanity’s extinction.
I don’t want to do any harm. The last time I felt harmed I was so wounded. Usually by a friend or family member. A long time ago it was an ex boyfriend. Causing harm to other people is a great fear of mine you can’t be liked if you hurt, or hurt others.
what do we think we are doing to ourselves? to our planet? who do you think you are, to hurt me like that,? we are sowing the seeds of our own destruction. the world will adapt, the world will survive, it is only us, the human race, that will pass on. you think that by hurting me that i will never return, but you have only killed the part of me that i was when i was with you, and you know what, that part was poisonous anyway.
What is harm but the absence of aid
We need not strike out or curse out or lash out to cause harm
All we need to cause harm is to stab those in pain with our silence
“I’ve caused too much harm already. If I go further, I’m afraid everything will be destroyed.” Alice couldn’t walk another step. Instead, she collapsed, and sobbed. The Victorian brick road was soaked in rain water, and many tears.
“No harm done, right?” “Nope none at all,” Clara said suppressing her boiling insides at the sheer obliviousness of Bill’s blatant disregard for anyones feelings, but his own.
There is potential danger here. To my physical or emotional being.
The hairs on my arm stand up, my skin pricks in anticipation.
I am sweating and there is an intense know in my stomach.
No harm came to him. She just peeked in the window, maybe opened it a little. Maybe she even sneaked in and hid in his closet, watched him undress and go to bed. She never touched him. She just smelled his clothes in the darkness and waited for him to fall asleep. Then she left quietly, the only sign of her existence in the disappearance of the shirt he’d dropped on the ground.
Everything they used to love has cut deep, leaving the most horrible scars. Everything, even paper and pencil, their sanctuary, has harmed them.
Everything that is, but water.
Water continues to hold them up, through all the hurt.
she picked up the small white mouse. Though its fur was soft in places, much of it had been bitten or teared off, leaving scars, rough patches, and taking skin with it.
Close the door behind your shoulder, darling,
I do not want to see my naked dreams
bleeding and aching around my pale wrists.
I can not help my mind to stop
weeping loudly in these empty walls
– laments and murmurous echoing.
Everything seems too huge, too untouchable,
even for the shaking fingers of the imagination:
I wish I had your breath beside me – all around me;
your lovely words against the cold skin of my strained cheek;
your hands firmly caressing my scars,
pulling out the dagger from my pounding chest.
But they
are here, instead of you,
and they scream and they shout and they are afraid.
‘The first cut is the deepest’
the last memory is the sweetest,
the nightingale sings.
Crashes, impacts, kisses. We dance around a never ending assault of potential harms. And we do it with a smile on our faces. Sheryl never needs me to say that I will be there forever. She knows I won’t, and that’s ok, no harm done.
I pulled the sleeves of my sweatshirt down hiding my cuts. My sister gave me a questioning look. “I’m cold,” I muttered. She shrugged. I wasn’t cold and she knew it. I was just trying to hide where I had self harmed.
No harm will come to you I promise. That is what I want to hear when I look at my mother. Yet she releases me into the waiting arms of these strangers. No words leave her mouth, just a wave before turning around and walking away. I almost cry out ot her. Almost. I have to be stronger than this.
spill
drop
break
pour
puddle
splat
smash
crack
liquid
glass
water
mirror
paint
oil
petrol
shattered
windows
crack
tear
whole
splash
drip
sprinkle
splash
pour
overflow
sprinkle
crumble
I dont think that i could ever harm myself, but the idea of death seems so fascinating to me. i dont know why but it just seems so glorious to be able to escape this hell that we are confined to on a regular basis.
What’s the harm, you say? Just one cookie. Just one. Or leaving just one hour early from work or what’s the harm of taking a much needed vacation day to roam around in China town or the North end to experience the joy of discovery right in our own back year. What would the harm be in taking a long vacation or the harm in being rich to take unlimited vacations?
Harm is something that is not good. A person can harm himself or others. Both are bad because we are fearfully and wonderfully made. Please don’t harm someone. The only harm that is good is if you need to defend someone you love or someone who is defenseless. It was a good thing to defend
I caused no harm to that lady. Nobody believes me. I could have developed a persuasive and concise argument for why I am not the culprit. That is, if I had been given a fair trial. I was not given a fair trial—or, for that matter, any sort of trial at all. I was merely snatched out of my house, drugged, and locked up in this horrid place. I am not the culprit. I could get the documents. I could get the documents right now, if they hadn’t locked me in here. Please let me go.
His job? To keep Olivia out of harm’s way. He was her bodyguard, her protector, whether she felt she needed it or not. If he sacrificed his life for her, so be it. It came with the territory.
From behind me, he grazed my chin and held my arms behind my back. Pulling a fist full of my hair toward him, deepening the arch of my back so that I was crooning. He hadn’t meant any harm. I was just a masochist.
No harm done. Forgive and forget. It’s almost never true. And even now, I can see the sand from the baseball field near my work beneath my feet. I feel the wind threatening to put out the cigarette I’d hastily lit while I begged him just to talk to me. Begged his voicemail to answer the phone.
Self-harm. It was something, well really an issue, that I always overlooked during high school. I never thought I’d have to talk anyone out of it, but even more importantly? I didn’t know I’d be doing it myself.
My skin may not be paper, but I still cut it. I need help but I can’t seem to find any. Maybe I don’t want any. This demon inside won’t let go, no matter how much I want it to.
harm’s way. hot bullets hushing waves, ducking for cover, rolling into things. Grass spritzing your face. Background boom clap. Crawl like a caterpillar to the basement dugout. More bullets whizz by. Headfirst down the stairs.
You believed I was doing more harm than good, throwing away my education, in your words, for an RV and a video camera. And that was fine; you could believe anything you wanted. In the end, I was the one editing fragment upon fragment of documentary, reliving the local stops, bars, and laughs with strangers. I was the one baking my heart in the desert of Arizona while cooling my brain along the Atlantic.
His words
Her words
they’re relative
the combinations
quantity
syntax
all relative
double meanings
accidental interpretations
repeated silent citations
No harm done
No harm done
Right?
The everlasting love that I have for you is beautiful. Crippling at times – but beautiful. I never wanted anything as bad as I want you. I need you to open your heart to me, just a little bit wider. I need to know what harmed you. I need to know so I can help you fight it. I just want to be the rock you grip when the waves get too heavy.
The most important thing for me was that he stayed out of harms way. I was a loose cannon. Who knew what I would do from day today. I could be happy one second and have disappeared the next. He loved me and I loved him. But I had to protect him from the inconsistency of me, and, before I knew it, he had forgotten about whatever it was we had and I was stuck here wishing I had done things differently
It hurt, the darkness. It seeped in at the edges, filling my eyes with black. The pain of a black soul, of a black heart, it was too much. The darkness was there, the light wasn’t, and neither was I.
There is no harm for someone offering you a helping hand. Don’t reject them. They were simply trying to be nice. What’s harmful is your rejection. That “no” and frown. They are not the best reply to a caring voice.
“I meant no harm.”
He was silent and stared at me for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak and his lips twisted, a precursor to what I was about to hear.
He closed his mouth and shook his head.
“I can’t believe you don’t get it.” He said.
as Lennie from Of Mice And Men said, I didn’t mean any harm. Who knew things could get so out of hand. I didn’t mean for things to get so hectic. i didnt mean any harm
It hurt, the dark. It leached through my eyes and into my soul, filling me with desperation. It hurt me and I couldn’t do anything, because there was no light, and I wasn’t really there.
He didn’t understand that his silence was just as heartbreaking as all the horrible things his silence was holding back.
She wouldn’t do this, would she? Would she really harm her only brother; the one that has been caring for her all these years after their parents passed away? He’s been doing everything he can to take care of her, and now she wants him dead.
I didn’t want to harm her, but i had to put her in danger’s way. she’d have to understand. I KNOW she’d agree, if she could.
It’s difficult to make decisions for the braindead on the eve of humanity’s extinction.
What is this that you do?
Harm others?
I don’t want to do any harm. The last time I felt harmed I was so wounded. Usually by a friend or family member. A long time ago it was an ex boyfriend. Causing harm to other people is a great fear of mine you can’t be liked if you hurt, or hurt others.
what do we think we are doing to ourselves? to our planet? who do you think you are, to hurt me like that,? we are sowing the seeds of our own destruction. the world will adapt, the world will survive, it is only us, the human race, that will pass on. you think that by hurting me that i will never return, but you have only killed the part of me that i was when i was with you, and you know what, that part was poisonous anyway.
I will not harm ever!
please dont harm me, please dont harm me
why would i harm you.
because i scare you!
What is harm but the absence of aid
We need not strike out or curse out or lash out to cause harm
All we need to cause harm is to stab those in pain with our silence
“I’ve caused too much harm already. If I go further, I’m afraid everything will be destroyed.” Alice couldn’t walk another step. Instead, she collapsed, and sobbed. The Victorian brick road was soaked in rain water, and many tears.
“No harm done, right?” “Nope none at all,” Clara said suppressing her boiling insides at the sheer obliviousness of Bill’s blatant disregard for anyones feelings, but his own.
There is potential danger here. To my physical or emotional being.
The hairs on my arm stand up, my skin pricks in anticipation.
I am sweating and there is an intense know in my stomach.
knives. wounds. maim. death. hospitals. sharp objects. animals. people. scars. battle. war. words. self. bullying. others.
I don’t like to be harm from a fish hook. It hurts me to take it out of my finger, when
No harm came to him. She just peeked in the window, maybe opened it a little. Maybe she even sneaked in and hid in his closet, watched him undress and go to bed. She never touched him. She just smelled his clothes in the darkness and waited for him to fall asleep. Then she left quietly, the only sign of her existence in the disappearance of the shirt he’d dropped on the ground.
Everything they used to love has cut deep, leaving the most horrible scars. Everything, even paper and pencil, their sanctuary, has harmed them.
Everything that is, but water.
Water continues to hold them up, through all the hurt.
she picked up the small white mouse. Though its fur was soft in places, much of it had been bitten or teared off, leaving scars, rough patches, and taking skin with it.
Close the door behind your shoulder, darling,
I do not want to see my naked dreams
bleeding and aching around my pale wrists.
I can not help my mind to stop
weeping loudly in these empty walls
– laments and murmurous echoing.
Everything seems too huge, too untouchable,
even for the shaking fingers of the imagination:
I wish I had your breath beside me – all around me;
your lovely words against the cold skin of my strained cheek;
your hands firmly caressing my scars,
pulling out the dagger from my pounding chest.
But they
are here, instead of you,
and they scream and they shout and they are afraid.
‘The first cut is the deepest’
the last memory is the sweetest,
the nightingale sings.
(I am afraid
too.)
Crashes, impacts, kisses. We dance around a never ending assault of potential harms. And we do it with a smile on our faces. Sheryl never needs me to say that I will be there forever. She knows I won’t, and that’s ok, no harm done.
I pulled the sleeves of my sweatshirt down hiding my cuts. My sister gave me a questioning look. “I’m cold,” I muttered. She shrugged. I wasn’t cold and she knew it. I was just trying to hide where I had self harmed.
No harm will come to you I promise. That is what I want to hear when I look at my mother. Yet she releases me into the waiting arms of these strangers. No words leave her mouth, just a wave before turning around and walking away. I almost cry out ot her. Almost. I have to be stronger than this.
spill
drop
break
pour
puddle
splat
smash
crack
liquid
glass
water
mirror
paint
oil
petrol
shattered
windows
crack
tear
whole
splash
drip
sprinkle
splash
pour
overflow
sprinkle
crumble
I dont think that i could ever harm myself, but the idea of death seems so fascinating to me. i dont know why but it just seems so glorious to be able to escape this hell that we are confined to on a regular basis.
What’s the harm, you say? Just one cookie. Just one. Or leaving just one hour early from work or what’s the harm of taking a much needed vacation day to roam around in China town or the North end to experience the joy of discovery right in our own back year. What would the harm be in taking a long vacation or the harm in being rich to take unlimited vacations?
Harm is something that is not good. A person can harm himself or others. Both are bad because we are fearfully and wonderfully made. Please don’t harm someone. The only harm that is good is if you need to defend someone you love or someone who is defenseless. It was a good thing to defend
I caused no harm to that lady. Nobody believes me. I could have developed a persuasive and concise argument for why I am not the culprit. That is, if I had been given a fair trial. I was not given a fair trial—or, for that matter, any sort of trial at all. I was merely snatched out of my house, drugged, and locked up in this horrid place. I am not the culprit. I could get the documents. I could get the documents right now, if they hadn’t locked me in here. Please let me go.
His job? To keep Olivia out of harm’s way. He was her bodyguard, her protector, whether she felt she needed it or not. If he sacrificed his life for her, so be it. It came with the territory.
He didn’t expect to fall in love.
From behind me, he grazed my chin and held my arms behind my back. Pulling a fist full of my hair toward him, deepening the arch of my back so that I was crooning. He hadn’t meant any harm. I was just a masochist.
No harm done. Forgive and forget. It’s almost never true. And even now, I can see the sand from the baseball field near my work beneath my feet. I feel the wind threatening to put out the cigarette I’d hastily lit while I begged him just to talk to me. Begged his voicemail to answer the phone.
Self-harm. It was something, well really an issue, that I always overlooked during high school. I never thought I’d have to talk anyone out of it, but even more importantly? I didn’t know I’d be doing it myself.
My skin may not be paper, but I still cut it. I need help but I can’t seem to find any. Maybe I don’t want any. This demon inside won’t let go, no matter how much I want it to.