Elijah can’t begin to imagine what his hair would look like on a bad day. Even now when it sticks up on all sides and swerves as if it has places to be, he can’t imagine it.
“Meredith, just run a comb through it and be done with it, please!”
He stares desperately at Meredith’s reflection in the mirror and tries to pretend Meredith is being serious (like he usually is) and not smiling softly in return. Somehow, he can’t imagine it when Meredith replies with a: “Okay, okay.” and plucks the ridges of his comb.
Her hair was so fiery and red. His thick, rough fingertips stroked through the length, loving the soft feeling that came along. It was a shame that this spitfire of a young lady had died, by his very hands. But that is what had to happen in order for him to get what he wanted. Her soul was forever his.
I one took out my tousled on a winter morning. Rolling on the snow lawn in front of my house was jimmy and the boys. Walk out, tugging my tousled behind me, I was the envy of the neighborhood. They were all tou jealous.
Where people thought he was perfect and neat, tidy and boring there was a secret to him: He was an adventurer a man of many battles; his scars and wounds laid hidden beneath his kingly attire. Though there was a subtly that have him away, as he stood between pillars, noble and strong as if he had never before seen troubles. He was betrayed and gaven away this man was not just a facade, but a conqueror, a warrior of peace, he was and adventurer; his hair was tousled by the many mountains he had faced.
The wind tousled her hair back and forth, whipping it across her face as she stared at the ocean below her. Waves crashed upon the shore, almost terrifying but devastatingly beautiful in the fading light of the sun. The salty tears down her cheeks mimicked the bitter brine of the ocean as they fell down her cheeks and onto the pale, white dress that she wore. Violet eyes flashed dangerously as she contemplated life, love, and what the past few hours had meant. Why had he done that? Why didn’t he stop her? These questions and more plagued her, reverberating inside of her head like a swarm of angry bees. Her lips were chapped from too much worrying, raw and bleeding from her nervous habit that she really should change but can’t be bothered to because now, now was the time where it was okay to be sad. Now, she could be alone and sad and cry her heart out because she had said that she loved him, and he had only smiled bitterly and said, “Sorry.” That one word, and her world was over, the vibrant colors of her vision dying into embers.
Her tousled hair reflected her scattered mind. She raised her head from the pillow trying to make sense of the sound. Was it a dream, or did something need her attention?
She tousled her hair, shimmying out the kink, sliding dirty fingers through the sweat-slickened strands. It had been a long day, and was going to be a longer night. She grabbed a pencil, wrapped her hair into a bun, and pinned it in place.There was no point in showering now.
Her mousy hair was tousled and tangled from the rain and the crowd. As she opened the door, sopping wet with a demolished newspaper over her head. She dropped it carelessly to run a hand their her hair. She leaned down again to get the paper, but a man brushed past her and she only fell. I stood and opened my mouth.
It’s morning and light filters in through windows
The child wakes up with sleep still in his eyes,
the night’s dream tousled in the curls that fall around his face.
The spaghetti noodles crept over the edge of the plate, a piece here, a strand there, not unlike his hair, which, while attempting to appear merely tousled, was clearly unkempt. She could hardly stand to look at him, his food, his hair, every thing about him screamed disorganization, indolence.
Yet she was stuck with him for the next eighteen weeks. Confined, for an hour a day, two days a week, to a cubicle sized space. Forced to find inspiration for a project, to to carry it to completion, or to receive a failing grade.
My hair tousled in the wind as I ran through the streets. The rain hitting me like small pelts of bullets. I could not see who was following me but I knew someone what behind me. Where do I go now?
I remember waking up in a golden splash like the mistake-masterpiece of a painter who spills paint upon the canvas. Warmth cascaded through billowing white drapes as we smiled in sleepy content among the tousled sheets.
He walked past me, tousling my hair like a little five year old. I tried to act pouty but his touch sent tingles down my spine to the tips of my ties and back up again.
She tousled her short, red hair as she pulled off her helmet. It was getting dark, so Adam would probably be a little upset she’d been out so late. Or maybe not, maybe Mom had kept them both distracted with a board game, or… something she preferred not to think about. If she ever needed to wonder why her stepfather treated her like a teenager, it was probably because she sort of acted like one.
It was such a simple little guesture, when she tousled his hair. A show of affection and love and a throwback to when they were just children, two little farm kids growing up in the awkward stages of adolescence. She was taller than him back then by at least a foot and a half, so no wonder she could tousle his hair and throw her arm around his shoulder and even use the top of his head as an arm rest.
His tousled hair and disheveled clothes left no doubt in anyone’s mind that he had recently went a round or two rolling in the bedsheets with his gentleman paramour. There was no walk of shame fo him. He was happy and that was all that mattered. If anyone had a stopped him or looked at him with disdain that would have gotten an ear full.
Why would you make me
look up the definition of
Unfaithful?
My name was right there next to
Insincere.
And below that was written,
“Salvation will never come upon you.”
On my knees again
asking for forgiveness from myself,
while false gods get off on my face,
and I cry, lie awake at night
still dreaming of the day
Hell will welcome me with open arms
And I will be awarded, not punished,
for breaking each and every man
made commandment.
The Devil himself will hold me,
tousle my hair, and
praise me for all of the people If
ucked over along the way, for all
of the spines I used,
like ropes, to climb here.
Trevor Lee and Gwen Vale are the slickest duo in the country.
Gwen is willing to bet her entire fortune on it. Trevor wore collared shirts and sleek ties and Gucci suits over dress pants and leather shoes. She, on the other hand, strode across the city in blazers and pencil skirts and a pair of not-totally-uncomfortable click-clack heels. You would never find either with single hair out of place.
Then one Sunday morning, Gwen rolled over in a bed that was not hers and was greeted by the sight of a sleeping Trevor Lee. His inky black hair stuck out in different directions and some drool had dried out in the left corner of his mouth. His trademark frown was gone from his face. Instead, his facial muscles were relaxed, giving him an oddly boyish look.
This Trevor was a rare sight and she thought it immeasurably endearing.
The brigand leaned against the wall smoking his cigar and watching the bustling street. A street rat whisked by. With one hand, the brigand snatched the purse from one grubby little hand.With the other he tousled the brats messy hair almost lovingly. His little partner was worth his weight in gold, literally.
Tousled… This word I don’t know what’s the meaning of. Browsing on the empty page of my notebook. These words, words, words, or vocabulary. My teacher said that it will enhance our vocabulary. I don’t know. Playing with the dictionary, I never knew there are so many words.
I flipped the pages of the dictionary. I found it. It means to disorder. Then, write sentences, then paragraph. To disorder. I thought, geesh, my life was tousled right now. My mom and dad was divorced. I was getting fights with my brother that I love so much. I was wondering if the word tousled was listed in the dictionary, will it say my life?
I wanted mom to come back. I wanted this little fights with my brother ended. Maybe because of the divorce. All our life, we have each other, now everything is falling apart. I was glad we still have our friends, aunties, aunts, cousins. Especially our grandparents.
I still can remember mom and dad having fights. Little fights, then it got worst and worst.
Then the divorce. Tousled…what more can you get?
I step out of the shower, blonde hair tousled together in wet bundles, hanging down my back and dripping onto the floor. I wrap it up tight with a red towel ridden with little rips and holes. I can hear my roomates just outside the door, making breakfast, laughing, getting ready for the day. I wait a moment before turning the fan on, basking in the warmth of the steam wrapped around my naked body. Once that is gone, winter is back around me.
My little puppy jumped up, half tousled from laying on the comforter on the pad of fur he kept on his back. I sat up, rubbing my eyes with my fingertips. The light was filtering in through the blinds in thick bands. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
Her back was tousled and her hair crooked, her mind always running and her feet always too slow. She poured her morning milk into a bowl of crunchy, sweet alphabets and mixed her metaphors with a spoon. It was with her school bag sagging under the weight of math texts, phone texts, pencils, pens, peers, notebooks and fears that she stalked off in the direction of school, her mouth still dry and the air still punctuated with “I hate you, Mom!”…the arid words that had slipped from her quickly and messily, like the As, the Bs, and the Cs that had slipped off her breakfast spoon and into her uniformed lap. In this way, the morning routine was completed promptly, as if it had been scratched into her assignment notebook and checked off the to-do. Every day sat the same upon her hunched back, every step of the morning as bitter as the steps of the afternoon, and every dream a wisp of sleep she could never remember no matter how hard she tried. School days slipped past in a haze of gossip and glares, tests and teachers’ attempts to crack open the teenaged locks on teenaged hearts with hammers and poems and threats of love.
Your hair, this morning, turned gold by the sun. My hands reaching for you, the need to touch, to hold. You: soft skin, blue veins like rivers underneath. Your eyes moving in twitches and rolls under your eyelids, chasing some dream-sight. My head on your chest, listening to you breathe from the inside.
He always had a sort of air around him that made it seem like he had just rolled out of bed: tousled hair, rumpled clothes, and a bleary, disinterested expression.
Run your hands through your hair to give it a tousled look. Leave your bed unmade to give it a tousled look. Tousled sounds French – like Toulouse. You don’t hear or read the word much. Seems to have a strong connection with the way peopel describe hairstyle.
Gritting her teeth, she struggled to comb her tousled hair. To her frustration, the comb got stuck in the tangled mess. Forcefully, she ripped the comb out of her hair, pulling a few strands along with it.
He reached over and tousled my hair. “I’ll love you forever, you know that, right?” he asked me. “Of course,” I responded. “Of course I know that, babe.” But the truth was, I didn’t. I had seen him and Tiffany together yesterday, and if he really truly would “love me FOREVER” than I guess he had a lot of love to go around, because I heard him say the exact same thing to Tiffany. So I decided to tell him so. “Actually, while YOU may love me forever, I’M not going to love you forever. But you know who will? TIFFANY!” With that, I got up and ran away, away from him, away from Tiffany, away from all of my problems.
just bought some new hair and i’m in love with it. it was has made me so vein its so cutely tousled i feel like a modern day black hippie. yess for the tousled look. so cute and grudy! give me the naps, the frizz and the fierceness, a little grugged is a;ways good
Tight grip ’round the waist. O’er the harbor we faced. Under stars we paced. Slowly fingers laced. Lucid moon graced. Envisioned future embraced. Dark thoughts erased.
I want to be the girl with messy hair
Who used to occupy my mind
The endless black of pupils
Caught in photographs
Now feel hallow in my skull
I want to be the slightly tousled girl
The recklessly abandoned girl
The sick and vaguely frantic girl
The one who used to bleed
tousled, i wake up in the morning take my head wrap off and my hair is tousled, a hot gaga mess, i walk to the bathroom comb out the series of nap in my head and start my day
Elijah can’t begin to imagine what his hair would look like on a bad day. Even now when it sticks up on all sides and swerves as if it has places to be, he can’t imagine it.
“Meredith, just run a comb through it and be done with it, please!”
He stares desperately at Meredith’s reflection in the mirror and tries to pretend Meredith is being serious (like he usually is) and not smiling softly in return. Somehow, he can’t imagine it when Meredith replies with a: “Okay, okay.” and plucks the ridges of his comb.
Her hair was so fiery and red. His thick, rough fingertips stroked through the length, loving the soft feeling that came along. It was a shame that this spitfire of a young lady had died, by his very hands. But that is what had to happen in order for him to get what he wanted. Her soul was forever his.
I one took out my tousled on a winter morning. Rolling on the snow lawn in front of my house was jimmy and the boys. Walk out, tugging my tousled behind me, I was the envy of the neighborhood. They were all tou jealous.
Where people thought he was perfect and neat, tidy and boring there was a secret to him: He was an adventurer a man of many battles; his scars and wounds laid hidden beneath his kingly attire. Though there was a subtly that have him away, as he stood between pillars, noble and strong as if he had never before seen troubles. He was betrayed and gaven away this man was not just a facade, but a conqueror, a warrior of peace, he was and adventurer; his hair was tousled by the many mountains he had faced.
The feeling when you get tickled by someone but arent ticklish.
The wind tousled her hair back and forth, whipping it across her face as she stared at the ocean below her. Waves crashed upon the shore, almost terrifying but devastatingly beautiful in the fading light of the sun. The salty tears down her cheeks mimicked the bitter brine of the ocean as they fell down her cheeks and onto the pale, white dress that she wore. Violet eyes flashed dangerously as she contemplated life, love, and what the past few hours had meant. Why had he done that? Why didn’t he stop her? These questions and more plagued her, reverberating inside of her head like a swarm of angry bees. Her lips were chapped from too much worrying, raw and bleeding from her nervous habit that she really should change but can’t be bothered to because now, now was the time where it was okay to be sad. Now, she could be alone and sad and cry her heart out because she had said that she loved him, and he had only smiled bitterly and said, “Sorry.” That one word, and her world was over, the vibrant colors of her vision dying into embers.
Her tousled hair reflected her scattered mind. She raised her head from the pillow trying to make sense of the sound. Was it a dream, or did something need her attention?
She tousled her hair, shimmying out the kink, sliding dirty fingers through the sweat-slickened strands. It had been a long day, and was going to be a longer night. She grabbed a pencil, wrapped her hair into a bun, and pinned it in place.There was no point in showering now.
What does that mean?!
Her mousy hair was tousled and tangled from the rain and the crowd. As she opened the door, sopping wet with a demolished newspaper over her head. She dropped it carelessly to run a hand their her hair. She leaned down again to get the paper, but a man brushed past her and she only fell. I stood and opened my mouth.
It’s morning and light filters in through windows
The child wakes up with sleep still in his eyes,
the night’s dream tousled in the curls that fall around his face.
The spaghetti noodles crept over the edge of the plate, a piece here, a strand there, not unlike his hair, which, while attempting to appear merely tousled, was clearly unkempt. She could hardly stand to look at him, his food, his hair, every thing about him screamed disorganization, indolence.
Yet she was stuck with him for the next eighteen weeks. Confined, for an hour a day, two days a week, to a cubicle sized space. Forced to find inspiration for a project, to to carry it to completion, or to receive a failing grade.
My hair tousled in the wind as I ran through the streets. The rain hitting me like small pelts of bullets. I could not see who was following me but I knew someone what behind me. Where do I go now?
I remember waking up in a golden splash like the mistake-masterpiece of a painter who spills paint upon the canvas. Warmth cascaded through billowing white drapes as we smiled in sleepy content among the tousled sheets.
He walked past me, tousling my hair like a little five year old. I tried to act pouty but his touch sent tingles down my spine to the tips of my ties and back up again.
She tousled her short, red hair as she pulled off her helmet. It was getting dark, so Adam would probably be a little upset she’d been out so late. Or maybe not, maybe Mom had kept them both distracted with a board game, or… something she preferred not to think about. If she ever needed to wonder why her stepfather treated her like a teenager, it was probably because she sort of acted like one.
It was such a simple little guesture, when she tousled his hair. A show of affection and love and a throwback to when they were just children, two little farm kids growing up in the awkward stages of adolescence. She was taller than him back then by at least a foot and a half, so no wonder she could tousle his hair and throw her arm around his shoulder and even use the top of his head as an arm rest.
His tousled hair and disheveled clothes left no doubt in anyone’s mind that he had recently went a round or two rolling in the bedsheets with his gentleman paramour. There was no walk of shame fo him. He was happy and that was all that mattered. If anyone had a stopped him or looked at him with disdain that would have gotten an ear full.
In a weird mood. You might say I’m feeling tousled. But disheveled would be more like it.
Why would you make me
look up the definition of
Unfaithful?
My name was right there next to
Insincere.
And below that was written,
“Salvation will never come upon you.”
On my knees again
asking for forgiveness from myself,
while false gods get off on my face,
and I cry, lie awake at night
still dreaming of the day
Hell will welcome me with open arms
And I will be awarded, not punished,
for breaking each and every man
made commandment.
The Devil himself will hold me,
tousle my hair, and
praise me for all of the people If
ucked over along the way, for all
of the spines I used,
like ropes, to climb here.
Her father tousled her hair lightly.
“Stop it.” She growled under her breath. “Don’t touch me.”
Trevor Lee and Gwen Vale are the slickest duo in the country.
Gwen is willing to bet her entire fortune on it. Trevor wore collared shirts and sleek ties and Gucci suits over dress pants and leather shoes. She, on the other hand, strode across the city in blazers and pencil skirts and a pair of not-totally-uncomfortable click-clack heels. You would never find either with single hair out of place.
Then one Sunday morning, Gwen rolled over in a bed that was not hers and was greeted by the sight of a sleeping Trevor Lee. His inky black hair stuck out in different directions and some drool had dried out in the left corner of his mouth. His trademark frown was gone from his face. Instead, his facial muscles were relaxed, giving him an oddly boyish look.
This Trevor was a rare sight and she thought it immeasurably endearing.
The brigand leaned against the wall smoking his cigar and watching the bustling street. A street rat whisked by. With one hand, the brigand snatched the purse from one grubby little hand.With the other he tousled the brats messy hair almost lovingly. His little partner was worth his weight in gold, literally.
Tousled… This word I don’t know what’s the meaning of. Browsing on the empty page of my notebook. These words, words, words, or vocabulary. My teacher said that it will enhance our vocabulary. I don’t know. Playing with the dictionary, I never knew there are so many words.
I flipped the pages of the dictionary. I found it. It means to disorder. Then, write sentences, then paragraph. To disorder. I thought, geesh, my life was tousled right now. My mom and dad was divorced. I was getting fights with my brother that I love so much. I was wondering if the word tousled was listed in the dictionary, will it say my life?
I wanted mom to come back. I wanted this little fights with my brother ended. Maybe because of the divorce. All our life, we have each other, now everything is falling apart. I was glad we still have our friends, aunties, aunts, cousins. Especially our grandparents.
I still can remember mom and dad having fights. Little fights, then it got worst and worst.
Then the divorce. Tousled…what more can you get?
I step out of the shower, blonde hair tousled together in wet bundles, hanging down my back and dripping onto the floor. I wrap it up tight with a red towel ridden with little rips and holes. I can hear my roomates just outside the door, making breakfast, laughing, getting ready for the day. I wait a moment before turning the fan on, basking in the warmth of the steam wrapped around my naked body. Once that is gone, winter is back around me.
just woke up, where am I? aahhh! just looked in the mirror. is that hair? where is my dignity?
My little puppy jumped up, half tousled from laying on the comforter on the pad of fur he kept on his back. I sat up, rubbing my eyes with my fingertips. The light was filtering in through the blinds in thick bands. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
Her back was tousled and her hair crooked, her mind always running and her feet always too slow. She poured her morning milk into a bowl of crunchy, sweet alphabets and mixed her metaphors with a spoon. It was with her school bag sagging under the weight of math texts, phone texts, pencils, pens, peers, notebooks and fears that she stalked off in the direction of school, her mouth still dry and the air still punctuated with “I hate you, Mom!”…the arid words that had slipped from her quickly and messily, like the As, the Bs, and the Cs that had slipped off her breakfast spoon and into her uniformed lap. In this way, the morning routine was completed promptly, as if it had been scratched into her assignment notebook and checked off the to-do. Every day sat the same upon her hunched back, every step of the morning as bitter as the steps of the afternoon, and every dream a wisp of sleep she could never remember no matter how hard she tried. School days slipped past in a haze of gossip and glares, tests and teachers’ attempts to crack open the teenaged locks on teenaged hearts with hammers and poems and threats of love.
Your hair, this morning, turned gold by the sun. My hands reaching for you, the need to touch, to hold. You: soft skin, blue veins like rivers underneath. Your eyes moving in twitches and rolls under your eyelids, chasing some dream-sight. My head on your chest, listening to you breathe from the inside.
Her back was tousled and her hair crooked.
He always had a sort of air around him that made it seem like he had just rolled out of bed: tousled hair, rumpled clothes, and a bleary, disinterested expression.
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Run your hands through your hair to give it a tousled look. Leave your bed unmade to give it a tousled look. Tousled sounds French – like Toulouse. You don’t hear or read the word much. Seems to have a strong connection with the way peopel describe hairstyle.
Gritting her teeth, she struggled to comb her tousled hair. To her frustration, the comb got stuck in the tangled mess. Forcefully, she ripped the comb out of her hair, pulling a few strands along with it.
He reached over and tousled my hair. “I’ll love you forever, you know that, right?” he asked me. “Of course,” I responded. “Of course I know that, babe.” But the truth was, I didn’t. I had seen him and Tiffany together yesterday, and if he really truly would “love me FOREVER” than I guess he had a lot of love to go around, because I heard him say the exact same thing to Tiffany. So I decided to tell him so. “Actually, while YOU may love me forever, I’M not going to love you forever. But you know who will? TIFFANY!” With that, I got up and ran away, away from him, away from Tiffany, away from all of my problems.
‘Twas the thick tousled thistles tickling toes that twitched.
just bought some new hair and i’m in love with it. it was has made me so vein its so cutely tousled i feel like a modern day black hippie. yess for the tousled look. so cute and grudy! give me the naps, the frizz and the fierceness, a little grugged is a;ways good
Tight grip ’round the waist. O’er the harbor we faced. Under stars we paced. Slowly fingers laced. Lucid moon graced. Envisioned future embraced. Dark thoughts erased.
I want to be the girl with messy hair
Who used to occupy my mind
The endless black of pupils
Caught in photographs
Now feel hallow in my skull
I want to be the slightly tousled girl
The recklessly abandoned girl
The sick and vaguely frantic girl
The one who used to bleed
tousled, i wake up in the morning take my head wrap off and my hair is tousled, a hot gaga mess, i walk to the bathroom comb out the series of nap in my head and start my day