She stared out the window, watching the horizon move gently next to her, while the sky rolled on by. Her heart, crushed by sorrow, beat softly in her chest. She placed a hand on top of it, trying to convince herself that she really was alive. The light was stolen right out of her, by an old friend, now simply a foe.
He pulls off her shirt with haste, planting kisses along the shell of her ear and her collar bone, keeping her distracting as yanks her pants down. Forcing his way in, and ignoring her cries of “no,” and “don’t,” and “wait.” He taints her, ruins her. Slowly her cries of pain change into lustful moans as he continues roughly plowing into her. This is her first time. She is now his. Her virginity claimed and stolen.
the future she had imagined was gone
she moved on, made new friends
kept on living
made a new life,alone,
and ok with it
most of the time
but sometimes
felt denied,
‘i was robbed’ she said
‘i coulda been a contender’ she said
‘i have so much to give’ she said
as she walked in front of the midtown bus
Stolen. Again. Things are stolen again from my store! My store! these little rugged teenagers! Then the police came! It’s about time! The store owner said. then he turned on me for not guarding the store right. Huh? His store? Uh oh! not again!
He caught me red handed again. Daydreaming. Wait, hold on. you cannot call it daydreaming. I was crying. Crying for the man of my dreams who stole my heart and be with for 3 years broke up with me. We were no more.! no more! Even though I am feeling this way I still went to work to this store.
“What’s wrong?” he asked and suddenly forgot about the stolen things and shouting.
” I am fine.” I said wiping my tears.
“Thanks for the concern. How about your stolen things?” I said.
“we’ll take care of those later. Anyway hope you are fine.” He said.
” I am going to fire you but I think yo don’t need it right now.” He said while leaving to go to the police station. I smiled.
I ran as fast as I could, feeling my heart beating like a caged butterfly. Clutching my handbag to my chest I resisted the urge to glance behind me. I could hear footsteps pounding furiously behind me.
The heart sat in a small wooden box in the corner of the room. Seemingly so out in the open, but so coldly forgotten. It sat there in that dusty corner lonely and confused. It wondered as to why someone would lock it in such a special place and then act like it never existed.
He had stolen my heart the first moment I heard his voice.Then, the second time was with his written words. I think the third time will be when I look into his eyes.
I had them a moment ago … the ambition, the dreams, the goals of the young. Tomorrow was forever, and I had all the tools to become whatever I wanted. Yesterday, I could have sworn, I stood without pain, moved without hesitation, and loved as freely as any being on earth ever did. Where did my time go? Stolen away by hesitations and doubts.
It was a hammer, a drum, a thousand drums, a thousand hammers. The nail wouldn’t budge and the beat wouldn’t stop. He rounded the corner into the alley and stooped down; clutched in his hands was the 500 dollars he took from the man’s till.
Sometimes you call it stealing and sometimes it just ends up stolen. Hearts, these blood pumping organs, symbols of something greater than the physical version of itself. For love is the truth. And truth equals freedom.
He was the devil. He stole things from you that you never knew could be taken. But he never lied. He told you the first night you met him, how he would steal your heart, your life, your sanity, your soul. So you can’t help but wonder, did he really steal it or did you give it to him?
It was gone. Everything I had ever known was in that book. Literally. I was the youngest case of Alzheimer’s the Mayo Clinic had ever seen. I kept all my memories in that book, chock-full of photos, scraps of paper, phone numbers, addresses, bits of poetry I love each time I read them again. The man continued bolting down the street, scraps flying out errantly by his unsure footsteps. I watched everything I had ever known disappear, and all I could do was smile.
One day I was stolen, more like an alien ubtuction. I guess in a way it was a new beginning. I learned the importance of not judging a book by its cover because actually the aliens were very nice people.
The day she stole my heart was the day I first cut myself.
She was in the hallway, putting books away in her locker when I first saw her. Her giggle was intoxicating. Her smile was infectious.
I wasn’t good enough for her.
I stole my aunt’s car last week, so that I could go to the hot dog place three miles away. She wasn’t very happy about that, especially because I could have just walked there without ever going to the trouble of stealing her keys and picking a time when she wasn’t home to get the car, and better yet I could have just made my own hot o
I run quickly as I hear the sirens approaching not far behind. A smile grows on my face as the thought of what just happened reels in my brain. I’ve just stolen the most treasured thing in all of the world. Your heart.
“A horrible twist of events, a horrible bank problem…oh god…I just need a little bit of money…I get paid soon…but I can’t afford to eat tonight and my stomach…it hurts so bad,” I told him. And he said, “oh, it’s fine, I’ll help you. I love to help. I live to help. I am such a helpful person.” So, he held me hostage that night and did anything he wanted to me because he knew I couldn’t afford to escape from him. I didn’t even have change for a train ticket. And I was a foreigner. It was perfect. He withheld the money from me for as long as he wanted. When I finally got it, he told me he couldn’t give me as much as I needed because he “spent too much money on the hotel room” that I never intended to stay at…I intended to go home early that night. I really thought it would be simple but, yes, the costs of holding someone hostage…they create a large, deep, gaping dent, a dent, a dent in your wallet, wasn’t it? I went back to starving after a couple days. Everyone that heard the story thought I was a whore.
He had stolen my heart, and he had overtaken my soul. His face consumed my thoughts, and his touch lingered on my skin. He was beautiful and I was vulnerable. I was a perfect victim: willing, clueless, and unknown. But he didn’t realize that I had stolen his heart too.
He stole my heart. He kept it warm and he shattered it to a million pieces. He fixed my heart and put the millions of pieces back together, with tape and glue of course. It could still be broken, and now you had to be a lot more fragile. This will continue to happen over and over again, until it is no longer fixable and the only way out is death. Rather sad.
Someone stole Merlin’s neckerchief. He’d been looking all over his chambers for it: underneath his bed, under all of his clothes, in the medicine cabinets, even using his magic to try and summon it to him. Gaius looked on in a grumbling protest, arms crossed together and a frown on his face, watching his nephew scramble around for it.
My innocence was stolen,taken away from like a hungry bear.
It was stolen from the man who raped me that cold october night. I
was only 7,looking at the world with bright eyes,with hopes and
dreams fro the future it all changed that night. I was playing
dolls in my parents bedroom while they had a small get together in
the downstairs living room. They thought nothing of it when one of
their guests excuses himself to use the bathroom and to be gone for
twenty minutes.
The bike belonged to him. He used to ride it around the streets at night. We rode it together a couple times though it was way too small for both of us. I meant to give it back to him. Now, I’ll never let it go.
i never really thought much about it when i stole things from others. No one else deserved them. They thought they were meaningless things meant to collect dust but i knew better. I knew they were trophies of every time i got one up on someone else.
I took the glass without even thinking about it. It was my favorite and I couldn’t just leave it sitting there in the open like that. I didn’t want someone else who wouldn’t appreciate its beauty to take it.
It was always taken away from me, love. Like a theft in the night someone always stole it from me. I never wanted it to stay but neither did I want it to go away. Just to stay at bay. Far enough to not hurt but close enough to feel good. That’s all I ever wanted.
Every part of my identity is stolen. I took pieces of everyone else and formed my own personality. I am not original, I am a product of everyone around me.
The stolen necklace lay in the bottom of her black leather bag. For something so materially precious, it lay haphazardly like any other piece of trash, such as a forgotten pen or receipt.
The only mother who
has ever mothered me
was my razor blade collection
dancing across my wrists
splitting skin
releasing toxins
from within
spilling
words into the bathroom sink
It looked so pretty
Drip drip drip drip
Her sharp edges
brushing back my hair
holding my hands
while I was sick.
She wrote history lessons
up and down my arms
Teaching me how to forget but
Never forgive never forgive.
Stolen
Yesterday I stole from Father Time,
His watch
Then spat in his face
Just so I could spend a little
more time with you
And at night I returned the watch
to his bed stand while he snored
But I switched it with a broken compass
so he can never find me by your side
creating our own time
When Combeferre opened the door his stomach dropped.
“What happened?” he asked, running his eyes over a rage-shaken Enjolras in search of bruises and lacerations. “Are you okay?”
“They fucking — stole — my car,” the latter replied in a deadly low voice.
Combeferre’s eyebrows shot up. “Who did?”
“Who do you think? Fucking — made up some stupid reason to tow it!”
“You /have/ been evading taxes, Enj, they probably took it as collateral.” Combeferre stood aside and gestured for Enjolras to come in, pushing his glasses up into his hair so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. “Not that it makes them /right./ C’mon, let’s hit the books — we’ll find a chink and get her back.”
She stared out the window, watching the horizon move gently next to her, while the sky rolled on by. Her heart, crushed by sorrow, beat softly in her chest. She placed a hand on top of it, trying to convince herself that she really was alive. The light was stolen right out of her, by an old friend, now simply a foe.
He pulls off her shirt with haste, planting kisses along the shell of her ear and her collar bone, keeping her distracting as yanks her pants down. Forcing his way in, and ignoring her cries of “no,” and “don’t,” and “wait.” He taints her, ruins her. Slowly her cries of pain change into lustful moans as he continues roughly plowing into her. This is her first time. She is now his. Her virginity claimed and stolen.
the future she had imagined was gone
she moved on, made new friends
kept on living
made a new life,alone,
and ok with it
most of the time
but sometimes
felt denied,
‘i was robbed’ she said
‘i coulda been a contender’ she said
‘i have so much to give’ she said
as she walked in front of the midtown bus
Stolen. Again. Things are stolen again from my store! My store! these little rugged teenagers! Then the police came! It’s about time! The store owner said. then he turned on me for not guarding the store right. Huh? His store? Uh oh! not again!
He caught me red handed again. Daydreaming. Wait, hold on. you cannot call it daydreaming. I was crying. Crying for the man of my dreams who stole my heart and be with for 3 years broke up with me. We were no more.! no more! Even though I am feeling this way I still went to work to this store.
“What’s wrong?” he asked and suddenly forgot about the stolen things and shouting.
” I am fine.” I said wiping my tears.
“Thanks for the concern. How about your stolen things?” I said.
“we’ll take care of those later. Anyway hope you are fine.” He said.
” I am going to fire you but I think yo don’t need it right now.” He said while leaving to go to the police station. I smiled.
I ran as fast as I could, feeling my heart beating like a caged butterfly. Clutching my handbag to my chest I resisted the urge to glance behind me. I could hear footsteps pounding furiously behind me.
The heart sat in a small wooden box in the corner of the room. Seemingly so out in the open, but so coldly forgotten. It sat there in that dusty corner lonely and confused. It wondered as to why someone would lock it in such a special place and then act like it never existed.
He had stolen my heart the first moment I heard his voice.Then, the second time was with his written words. I think the third time will be when I look into his eyes.
I had them a moment ago … the ambition, the dreams, the goals of the young. Tomorrow was forever, and I had all the tools to become whatever I wanted. Yesterday, I could have sworn, I stood without pain, moved without hesitation, and loved as freely as any being on earth ever did. Where did my time go? Stolen away by hesitations and doubts.
It was a hammer, a drum, a thousand drums, a thousand hammers. The nail wouldn’t budge and the beat wouldn’t stop. He rounded the corner into the alley and stooped down; clutched in his hands was the 500 dollars he took from the man’s till.
Sometimes you call it stealing and sometimes it just ends up stolen. Hearts, these blood pumping organs, symbols of something greater than the physical version of itself. For love is the truth. And truth equals freedom.
He was the devil. He stole things from you that you never knew could be taken. But he never lied. He told you the first night you met him, how he would steal your heart, your life, your sanity, your soul. So you can’t help but wonder, did he really steal it or did you give it to him?
It was gone. Everything I had ever known was in that book. Literally. I was the youngest case of Alzheimer’s the Mayo Clinic had ever seen. I kept all my memories in that book, chock-full of photos, scraps of paper, phone numbers, addresses, bits of poetry I love each time I read them again. The man continued bolting down the street, scraps flying out errantly by his unsure footsteps. I watched everything I had ever known disappear, and all I could do was smile.
I always knew you would steal something from me. I just didn’t know it would be my heart. Stolen like that pack of gum I stole when I was eight.
One day I was stolen, more like an alien ubtuction. I guess in a way it was a new beginning. I learned the importance of not judging a book by its cover because actually the aliens were very nice people.
The day she stole my heart was the day I first cut myself.
She was in the hallway, putting books away in her locker when I first saw her. Her giggle was intoxicating. Her smile was infectious.
I wasn’t good enough for her.
I stole my aunt’s car last week, so that I could go to the hot dog place three miles away. She wasn’t very happy about that, especially because I could have just walked there without ever going to the trouble of stealing her keys and picking a time when she wasn’t home to get the car, and better yet I could have just made my own hot o
I run quickly as I hear the sirens approaching not far behind. A smile grows on my face as the thought of what just happened reels in my brain. I’ve just stolen the most treasured thing in all of the world. Your heart.
“The pocket watch! It’s been stolen!”
“By its true owner,” Samson snapped as he stooped down to redo his shoelaces. But his partner Munroe was having none of it.
“That watch was an heirloom!” he growled. “It’s been passed down for four generations!”
“Yes,” said Samson. “Through a different family.”
“Finders, keepers!”
“You’re absolutely ridiculous.”
“A horrible twist of events, a horrible bank problem…oh god…I just need a little bit of money…I get paid soon…but I can’t afford to eat tonight and my stomach…it hurts so bad,” I told him. And he said, “oh, it’s fine, I’ll help you. I love to help. I live to help. I am such a helpful person.” So, he held me hostage that night and did anything he wanted to me because he knew I couldn’t afford to escape from him. I didn’t even have change for a train ticket. And I was a foreigner. It was perfect. He withheld the money from me for as long as he wanted. When I finally got it, he told me he couldn’t give me as much as I needed because he “spent too much money on the hotel room” that I never intended to stay at…I intended to go home early that night. I really thought it would be simple but, yes, the costs of holding someone hostage…they create a large, deep, gaping dent, a dent, a dent in your wallet, wasn’t it? I went back to starving after a couple days. Everyone that heard the story thought I was a whore.
He had stolen my heart, and he had overtaken my soul. His face consumed my thoughts, and his touch lingered on my skin. He was beautiful and I was vulnerable. I was a perfect victim: willing, clueless, and unknown. But he didn’t realize that I had stolen his heart too.
He stole my heart. He kept it warm and he shattered it to a million pieces. He fixed my heart and put the millions of pieces back together, with tape and glue of course. It could still be broken, and now you had to be a lot more fragile. This will continue to happen over and over again, until it is no longer fixable and the only way out is death. Rather sad.
Someone stole Merlin’s neckerchief. He’d been looking all over his chambers for it: underneath his bed, under all of his clothes, in the medicine cabinets, even using his magic to try and summon it to him. Gaius looked on in a grumbling protest, arms crossed together and a frown on his face, watching his nephew scramble around for it.
My innocence was stolen,taken away from like a hungry bear.
It was stolen from the man who raped me that cold october night. I
was only 7,looking at the world with bright eyes,with hopes and
dreams fro the future it all changed that night. I was playing
dolls in my parents bedroom while they had a small get together in
the downstairs living room. They thought nothing of it when one of
their guests excuses himself to use the bathroom and to be gone for
twenty minutes.
The bike belonged to him. He used to ride it around the streets at night. We rode it together a couple times though it was way too small for both of us. I meant to give it back to him. Now, I’ll never let it go.
i never really thought much about it when i stole things from others. No one else deserved them. They thought they were meaningless things meant to collect dust but i knew better. I knew they were trophies of every time i got one up on someone else.
I took the glass without even thinking about it. It was my favorite and I couldn’t just leave it sitting there in the open like that. I didn’t want someone else who wouldn’t appreciate its beauty to take it.
I was sitting alone. I had time to think. Thoughts that couldn’t be stolen. I played a beautiful song in my head that no one else heard.
It was always taken away from me, love. Like a theft in the night someone always stole it from me. I never wanted it to stay but neither did I want it to go away. Just to stay at bay. Far enough to not hurt but close enough to feel good. That’s all I ever wanted.
Every part of my identity is stolen. I took pieces of everyone else and formed my own personality. I am not original, I am a product of everyone around me.
stolen is my heart, my soul, my life
stolen is my family, my love and my child
stolen are my dreams
but stolen will never be my faith
Someone has stolen my wallet. My entire life was there. Who I was, What I’m worth. Who I love.
Someone has stolen my essence…
The stolen necklace lay in the bottom of her black leather bag. For something so materially precious, it lay haphazardly like any other piece of trash, such as a forgotten pen or receipt.
If these stolen moments, so precious and so few, were all I was ever to have of her, then I would make them count.
stop. don’t come any closer to me with those greedy
fingers and unfaithful
intentions.
My lunch was stolen
By the northern wind
And when it happened
My summer was grim
But I turned to you
All full of light
And smiled…
Mothering
The only mother who
has ever mothered me
was my razor blade collection
dancing across my wrists
splitting skin
releasing toxins
from within
spilling
words into the bathroom sink
It looked so pretty
Drip drip drip drip
Her sharp edges
brushing back my hair
holding my hands
while I was sick.
She wrote history lessons
up and down my arms
Teaching me how to forget but
Never forgive never forgive.
Stolen
Yesterday I stole from Father Time,
His watch
Then spat in his face
Just so I could spend a little
more time with you
And at night I returned the watch
to his bed stand while he snored
But I switched it with a broken compass
so he can never find me by your side
creating our own time
He cursed the moment he met him and he cursed the moment his heart was stolen.
When I was little I use to take candy out of the store.
No one ever got me.
I was so proud of that.
I still am.
possessions are replaceable, one should not become attached to the inanimate
Loved ones are what can only be truly stolen from you
blah blah ………………..
When Combeferre opened the door his stomach dropped.
“What happened?” he asked, running his eyes over a rage-shaken Enjolras in search of bruises and lacerations. “Are you okay?”
“They fucking — stole — my car,” the latter replied in a deadly low voice.
Combeferre’s eyebrows shot up. “Who did?”
“Who do you think? Fucking — made up some stupid reason to tow it!”
“You /have/ been evading taxes, Enj, they probably took it as collateral.” Combeferre stood aside and gestured for Enjolras to come in, pushing his glasses up into his hair so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. “Not that it makes them /right./ C’mon, let’s hit the books — we’ll find a chink and get her back.”