it’s a bitten tongue most days – sometimes it’s hard not to choke on your own words because you’d failed to do little more than clutch onto honesty, than push the smallest of voices out from between your teeth because you were scared, or hesitant, or thought too much.
There was a small vocal minority in the back of the room, protesting loudly that the process was taking too long. David had expected such unruliness, but had presumed the interruption to his wedding would be from his laddish friends. He was rather surprised by his grandparents’ eagerness to get to the refreshments at the bar.
She had always been one of the more…vocal members of the group, always so superior, always thinking her ideals, her morals, were the right one’s, the only one’s, that mattered. But, still, no one had taken her all that seriously; not Jane Walker, with her thick glasses and unflattering haircut. She would never – could never – do something so horrible, so terrible, so…EXTREME.
Until, of course, the day she did.
he was so loud the last time I saw him,
(laughing and smiling and yelling)
and so quiet the first time
a week later, I almost didn’t
recognize him laying there.
I was never vocal I hate speaking in public it terrifies me the thought of saying something wrong and feeling stupid so I always just sit there biting my tongue and holding it all in I hope to work past this one day because when I do say something it goes over well
Always.
Always?
Always.
Never have I known Eve to not be “vocal”. And I was there the day she was born. Her mother’s birthing coach.
Ah. I see.
Yes.
Always.
I am usually not very vocal so I was surprised by my own loudness.It was a night without inhibitions. I think I am due for another one of those sessions, real soon.
Voice up and lets be heard
stay in front of the herd and
toss it out like an old turd
the very word so ugly and
rounded like a bass drum from the
last roundup challenged and absurd
Outspoken, loud. Someone who speaks up for themselves. Someone who clearly expresses opinions, ideas thoughts. Speaking. Using your words as your strength. Extrovert.
The din of her voice resonated through the crowd. The content of her musical tones was muffled by street noises and the hollering of a group of nearby children playing in the park. The families in the park had gathered on this summer day to spend time away from the bustle, but only one thing stood out from the norm.
It was a bleeding horrible take. I’m sick of showing up at the bloody studio and me bloody bandmates can’t nail the scales. I told them it wasn’t rock and roll… it was my life that was at stake! I kicked them out of the band and started me solo career.
Like an orca whale, I vocalized my distress. The problem was that I was standing in the middle of the mall with my mother and sister, and roughly 3000 other people. Yes, I had untied my shoe by accident but I could see the look crossing my mother’s face ‘I wish I had had an abortion.’
Have you ever watched a video of the vocal folds in action? It is actually quite amazing. Such small structures, but they have the power to help us do the one thing we all want to do—communicate. It is amazing just how fast they move and how much they can do. Everything must work together to let the vocal folds do their job though, therefore if one system is not right, communication may never be possible.
P.S. I get to look at my own vocal folds tomorrow :)
Sounds emanated from her throat. She felt that her thoughts were chained within her, gnarling and wailing to be freed. She felt an inner struggle well up inside. She could not push the thoughts back. She let them go in a torrent.
she speaks in tiny words
waves against a breaking sea wall
the world has taught her how to be quiet
invisible
small
if no one knows you’re there then no one will miss you when you’re gone
this is the way small people survive
She was vocal about our breakup like wolves are during a full moon. Unfortunately, she was way more vicious than any wolf could be. I wish it were wolves instead………
I am tryiiiiiing to be vocal to myself about the important things I need to DO:
Be responsible.
Work hard.
Hold on to your dreams, but don’t become so consumed by the things you hope to do and recieve that you become distracted and even negligent of your work.
After all, your work and your income are what will TRANSPORT you in the direction of your dreams. (I just barely wrote this exact same thing on 750words, but I don’t care; I need to pound it into my brain)
she needed to be more vocal about everything
(especially vocal music, of course)
but she’d never been that kind of a person
she just kept to herself
she didn’t want to deal with the world
but when it came to her favorite songs
she couldn’t help but open her mouth and release a melody
it had formed into a love song once
with a harmony
until it all went dissonant.
Burn me up, witchy baby. I’ll kill for the day we both die, and I go to heaven, for all the lovely heat I’ve let myself have in this life. And heaven will take me, for my happiness surpasses most, and what is more pure than happiness?
we splinter our fingers sewing on pieces of the world we perceive to have lost in the the cause that is adventure and the callous hands of human beings and the whispered words that shut us up by bringing us down. we cripple our fingers and we sew ourselves better, and we remind ourselves not to let the light out, for they are different. and the secrets are not those we don’t want to tell, but those that we think the Others, who end up being most everyone, don’t want to know
and we reeled up our nets and were ashamed to see that in them were glass figurines, the souls of the monsters e had broken. and we found they were as innocent and shimmering as our own had one been
Let me speak, please, I want to tell you how magnificent the world looks with you in the foreground. I want to say, it sings sweet when you join it, and I would like to lie in the grass and in your arms and bask in this universe with you.
“Exploring the nature of reality isn’t easy” – Detective John Constable was chewing on a sandwich, watching the rain exploring the windowpane in a contemplative downward trajectory, through eyes that had already seen the best and the worst of humanity. “I was just saying this yesterday to Captain Scarlet, when, well. You know.”
Manley Hall did know all too well. They had been sitting in the car, much like today, and it was as though the everyday world around them dissolved into tiny fragments. Behind this lay the night sky, a vast sea of stars. Yet instead of the expected static nature to this, this scene had felt more alive, more vibrant, than anything he had experienced. Tears poured down his cheeks as he was filled with the greatest love he had ever known, and beings he had never seen before danced before him, just playing for the sheer bloody hell of it. He was home. Trying to vocalise this seemed crude – as though his tongue, his thoughts of his means of expression, were as a blunt hammer trying to extract the sweetest diamond from the most fragile rose.
And now they were back, in the same car, in the same world, doing the same job. Why had they , a couple of normal policemen, been gifted with such a vision? It didn’t stop that drunk over there from drinking until he could stand no more, but slump to the ground, a twisted, painful vision of his childhood self. It didn’t stop anything at all. And he already felt the gorgeous memory begin – ever so slightly – to fade, like a ship in twilight.
What of reality, indeed?
Tom scraped the bacteria off the vocal cords. and then reached deep down to get the growth just below it. The growth was causing the bacteria build up on the cords. He had to be careful as he moved his tools around the small area. He sliced one side at a time of the growth. Now with just one little thin slice left he had to be cautious and not hit the vocal cords themselves as he maneuvered the growth past them and out of the patient. He dropped the growth into the bowl and told the nurse to get it down to the lab for testing while he stitched the flap in the his throat.
Tom had never seen a growth quite like the one he dropped in the bowl.
Once upon a time everyone was not a singer. No, this isn’t your everyday fairytale. I wish it was. But you’d have to pay real close attention to the details of the introduction. Am I confusing you? I bet I am. Anyways, no one could sing. At all. They could barely speak.
“He’s very vocal about this whole ‘anti-environmental’ movement,” my grandmother sighed as she poured me another cup of coffee. “Did you know he’s ‘rolling coal’ now?”
I stopped mid-sip and frowned. “Rolling coal?”
“Yep. Equipped a smoke stack on his truck so it spews the stuff. He says it’s sticking it to the man.”
I slowly put down my mug. “That is the stupidest and unhealthiest thing I think Grandpa’s ever done.”
*clap clap clap* The single woman cheered at the little girl at the stage. Her voice started to become clear again. Now the whole audience heard her words, “When the skyfalls, and it crumbles…” The high and clear voice caused the tears of women and cheers of men. That was Lily’s greatest moment.
The song came from his vocal chords smoothly and swiftly. The words pranced off his tongue and into the air fluently. The audience stared in awe at the small boy, who sang a song of sadness and death. No one had heard such beautiful notes in such a sad song. Poor boy.
Her heart began to beat very fast, faster than the cheetah running from it’s predator. The stage was lit up as the girl looked from side to side. No one knew what thoughts were running through her mind at that moment, but from the way she sang they were one with her.
You sure are vocal. Meaning you sure talk a lot. Too much? I don’t know. You are just vocal – constantly expressing yourself. Not filtering much of what comes out of your mouth. Maybe you speak out of pain. Maybe you speak out of fear. Maybe you speak because you stand the silence. Vocal.
her vocals were that of angels; i couldn’t believe such a beautiful sound could be made. i stared in awe and waited until the last note was sung through her beautiful luscious lips.
She was a vocal lass. She didn’t just speak her mind– speak her mind she did, scoffing and yelling at any who dare challenged the redheaded beauty– but she spat it, using all the vigor and anger she had welled up in her petite shape.
It almost made me cringe, the way our voices came out like that. Too loud and wanting. I was embarrassed to be like this after I had spent so much time trying to be quiet, trying to stuff it down, trying to suffocate it. We seemed too old to sing but when I heard her voice crack next to mine it made me smile, made my mouth open, made my shoulders rest down and my head bend back.
close your eyes and try to see something, the sound, the way it vibrates in your chest, anything. anything that isn’t bland, spinning in a wordless space. i can’t reconcile one piece of myself with the other. you’ve brought me to this longing for freedom
He was a vocal child … he just hadn’t spoken any actual words. At three years old, he most likely should have been speaking quite clearly, like all the other children in his pre-school class, but instead, he seemed to have made up his own language, which he spoke quite fluently, but which no one else could understand.
it’s a bitten tongue most days – sometimes it’s hard not to choke on your own words because you’d failed to do little more than clutch onto honesty, than push the smallest of voices out from between your teeth because you were scared, or hesitant, or thought too much.
i wish i’d told you everything i meant to say.
the scream was horrible. the shriek of a thousand demons from the deepest pits of hell. I ran and ran but couldn’t escape them.
There was a small vocal minority in the back of the room, protesting loudly that the process was taking too long. David had expected such unruliness, but had presumed the interruption to his wedding would be from his laddish friends. He was rather surprised by his grandparents’ eagerness to get to the refreshments at the bar.
She had always been one of the more…vocal members of the group, always so superior, always thinking her ideals, her morals, were the right one’s, the only one’s, that mattered. But, still, no one had taken her all that seriously; not Jane Walker, with her thick glasses and unflattering haircut. She would never – could never – do something so horrible, so terrible, so…EXTREME.
Until, of course, the day she did.
he was so loud the last time I saw him,
(laughing and smiling and yelling)
and so quiet the first time
a week later, I almost didn’t
recognize him laying there.
I was never vocal I hate speaking in public it terrifies me the thought of saying something wrong and feeling stupid so I always just sit there biting my tongue and holding it all in I hope to work past this one day because when I do say something it goes over well
Always.
Always?
Always.
Never have I known Eve to not be “vocal”. And I was there the day she was born. Her mother’s birthing coach.
Ah. I see.
Yes.
Always.
I am usually not very vocal so I was surprised by my own loudness.It was a night without inhibitions. I think I am due for another one of those sessions, real soon.
Voice up and lets be heard
stay in front of the herd and
toss it out like an old turd
the very word so ugly and
rounded like a bass drum from the
last roundup challenged and absurd
Outspoken, loud. Someone who speaks up for themselves. Someone who clearly expresses opinions, ideas thoughts. Speaking. Using your words as your strength. Extrovert.
The din of her voice resonated through the crowd. The content of her musical tones was muffled by street noises and the hollering of a group of nearby children playing in the park. The families in the park had gathered on this summer day to spend time away from the bustle, but only one thing stood out from the norm.
It was a bleeding horrible take. I’m sick of showing up at the bloody studio and me bloody bandmates can’t nail the scales. I told them it wasn’t rock and roll… it was my life that was at stake! I kicked them out of the band and started me solo career.
Like an orca whale, I vocalized my distress. The problem was that I was standing in the middle of the mall with my mother and sister, and roughly 3000 other people. Yes, I had untied my shoe by accident but I could see the look crossing my mother’s face ‘I wish I had had an abortion.’
Have you ever watched a video of the vocal folds in action? It is actually quite amazing. Such small structures, but they have the power to help us do the one thing we all want to do—communicate. It is amazing just how fast they move and how much they can do. Everything must work together to let the vocal folds do their job though, therefore if one system is not right, communication may never be possible.
P.S. I get to look at my own vocal folds tomorrow :)
Sounds emanated from her throat. She felt that her thoughts were chained within her, gnarling and wailing to be freed. She felt an inner struggle well up inside. She could not push the thoughts back. She let them go in a torrent.
vocal cords make me cry
every night i sleep with a fight
nobody feels what i did
cause em
she speaks in tiny words
waves against a breaking sea wall
the world has taught her how to be quiet
invisible
small
if no one knows you’re there then no one will miss you when you’re gone
this is the way small people survive
Music singing speech talent fame celebs I am very vocal p
She was vocal about our breakup like wolves are during a full moon. Unfortunately, she was way more vicious than any wolf could be. I wish it were wolves instead………
I am tryiiiiiing to be vocal to myself about the important things I need to DO:
Be responsible.
Work hard.
Hold on to your dreams, but don’t become so consumed by the things you hope to do and recieve that you become distracted and even negligent of your work.
After all, your work and your income are what will TRANSPORT you in the direction of your dreams. (I just barely wrote this exact same thing on 750words, but I don’t care; I need to pound it into my brain)
she needed to be more vocal about everything
(especially vocal music, of course)
but she’d never been that kind of a person
she just kept to herself
she didn’t want to deal with the world
but when it came to her favorite songs
she couldn’t help but open her mouth and release a melody
it had formed into a love song once
with a harmony
until it all went dissonant.
Oven:
Burn me up, witchy baby. I’ll kill for the day we both die, and I go to heaven, for all the lovely heat I’ve let myself have in this life. And heaven will take me, for my happiness surpasses most, and what is more pure than happiness?
Patch:
we splinter our fingers sewing on pieces of the world we perceive to have lost in the the cause that is adventure and the callous hands of human beings and the whispered words that shut us up by bringing us down. we cripple our fingers and we sew ourselves better, and we remind ourselves not to let the light out, for they are different. and the secrets are not those we don’t want to tell, but those that we think the Others, who end up being most everyone, don’t want to know
Fisherman:
and we reeled up our nets and were ashamed to see that in them were glass figurines, the souls of the monsters e had broken. and we found they were as innocent and shimmering as our own had one been
Let me speak, please, I want to tell you how magnificent the world looks with you in the foreground. I want to say, it sings sweet when you join it, and I would like to lie in the grass and in your arms and bask in this universe with you.
“Exploring the nature of reality isn’t easy” – Detective John Constable was chewing on a sandwich, watching the rain exploring the windowpane in a contemplative downward trajectory, through eyes that had already seen the best and the worst of humanity. “I was just saying this yesterday to Captain Scarlet, when, well. You know.”
Manley Hall did know all too well. They had been sitting in the car, much like today, and it was as though the everyday world around them dissolved into tiny fragments. Behind this lay the night sky, a vast sea of stars. Yet instead of the expected static nature to this, this scene had felt more alive, more vibrant, than anything he had experienced. Tears poured down his cheeks as he was filled with the greatest love he had ever known, and beings he had never seen before danced before him, just playing for the sheer bloody hell of it. He was home. Trying to vocalise this seemed crude – as though his tongue, his thoughts of his means of expression, were as a blunt hammer trying to extract the sweetest diamond from the most fragile rose.
And now they were back, in the same car, in the same world, doing the same job. Why had they , a couple of normal policemen, been gifted with such a vision? It didn’t stop that drunk over there from drinking until he could stand no more, but slump to the ground, a twisted, painful vision of his childhood self. It didn’t stop anything at all. And he already felt the gorgeous memory begin – ever so slightly – to fade, like a ship in twilight.
What of reality, indeed?
Tom scraped the bacteria off the vocal cords. and then reached deep down to get the growth just below it. The growth was causing the bacteria build up on the cords. He had to be careful as he moved his tools around the small area. He sliced one side at a time of the growth. Now with just one little thin slice left he had to be cautious and not hit the vocal cords themselves as he maneuvered the growth past them and out of the patient. He dropped the growth into the bowl and told the nurse to get it down to the lab for testing while he stitched the flap in the his throat.
Tom had never seen a growth quite like the one he dropped in the bowl.
Once upon a time everyone was not a singer. No, this isn’t your everyday fairytale. I wish it was. But you’d have to pay real close attention to the details of the introduction. Am I confusing you? I bet I am. Anyways, no one could sing. At all. They could barely speak.
“He’s very vocal about this whole ‘anti-environmental’ movement,” my grandmother sighed as she poured me another cup of coffee. “Did you know he’s ‘rolling coal’ now?”
I stopped mid-sip and frowned. “Rolling coal?”
“Yep. Equipped a smoke stack on his truck so it spews the stuff. He says it’s sticking it to the man.”
I slowly put down my mug. “That is the stupidest and unhealthiest thing I think Grandpa’s ever done.”
*clap clap clap* The single woman cheered at the little girl at the stage. Her voice started to become clear again. Now the whole audience heard her words, “When the skyfalls, and it crumbles…” The high and clear voice caused the tears of women and cheers of men. That was Lily’s greatest moment.
The song came from his vocal chords smoothly and swiftly. The words pranced off his tongue and into the air fluently. The audience stared in awe at the small boy, who sang a song of sadness and death. No one had heard such beautiful notes in such a sad song. Poor boy.
Her heart began to beat very fast, faster than the cheetah running from it’s predator. The stage was lit up as the girl looked from side to side. No one knew what thoughts were running through her mind at that moment, but from the way she sang they were one with her.
You sure are vocal. Meaning you sure talk a lot. Too much? I don’t know. You are just vocal – constantly expressing yourself. Not filtering much of what comes out of your mouth. Maybe you speak out of pain. Maybe you speak out of fear. Maybe you speak because you stand the silence. Vocal.
“I want to be heard!” the young woman shouted, her voice echoing in the vastness around her. “Damn you, listen to me! This isn’t what I want!”
Her spouse stared down at her lifeless face before turning to the doctor. “Okay,” he said, his voice emotionless. “Pull the plug.”
her vocals were that of angels; i couldn’t believe such a beautiful sound could be made. i stared in awe and waited until the last note was sung through her beautiful luscious lips.
My tounge held its ground
like the roots of a lion’s tooth
during the takedown.
She was a vocal lass. She didn’t just speak her mind– speak her mind she did, scoffing and yelling at any who dare challenged the redheaded beauty– but she spat it, using all the vigor and anger she had welled up in her petite shape.
It almost made me cringe, the way our voices came out like that. Too loud and wanting. I was embarrassed to be like this after I had spent so much time trying to be quiet, trying to stuff it down, trying to suffocate it. We seemed too old to sing but when I heard her voice crack next to mine it made me smile, made my mouth open, made my shoulders rest down and my head bend back.
close your eyes and try to see something, the sound, the way it vibrates in your chest, anything. anything that isn’t bland, spinning in a wordless space. i can’t reconcile one piece of myself with the other. you’ve brought me to this longing for freedom
He was a vocal child … he just hadn’t spoken any actual words. At three years old, he most likely should have been speaking quite clearly, like all the other children in his pre-school class, but instead, he seemed to have made up his own language, which he spoke quite fluently, but which no one else could understand.