Armor. It’s all my armor- my habits, what I do with my time and my life, the people with which I surround myself, my overprotective, wholeheartedly loving family. The things I say about what I think.
Armor is used to protect yourself from other dangers in the world, if you get penetrated with your armor you will die, the weapon will go through your armor and protection and leave you vunerable, this can be also linked to yourself, you start off with a strong piece of armor, then when someone comes along and hurts your inner self, that’s penetrating your armor. This is armor.
The armor chinked as a stone bounded off. Gary looked up. It seemed rocks were being loosed by an unseen force behind the wall. Pebbles begin raining down as larger chucks of brick and mortar begun to free fall.
My armor is now weak. Rusted, broken, and full of weak points. But I wear it still. There is more to it than just physical defense. It is a symbol. A symbol of my defiance to your actions. It is my shield against the hostile universe, not matter what blows it can absorb or not.
She didn’t need metal armor to roam the world. Her body was her armor. Muscles hard as steel under skin as impenetrable as canvas. Unfortunately, when her mouth armored itself, the world missed her words.
galvanzied by the vest in front
wore
by
day’s weary walls
coup me if you will
an army
need beat my armor of tenacity
churlish smile because there’s
that collosell room to smile wider
live larger
think faster
platnium tires on a beach cruiser isn’t calumny
is patriarchy
that armor you wear when tis time to tear into a new sign of dispair!
It’s what holds us together
let’s us find safety in ignorance
that when we take off
is when we grow
it’s momentary but useful
in certain contexts and at certain times
when our truth is vulnerability
when our nature is less nuture
and more
“What good would an armor do now?”-he asked
“well, I don’t know, maybe avoid their bites?”-she answered-“C’mon, they can’t bite through metal”
“Sophie, we don’t have an armor. Drop the idea”
Five people in the room with hardly any food, a generator running out of energy, and yet none of us could find a way to run through what seemed like an army of living dead creatures. We have been stuck here for three days, I don’t think we are going to last much longer
Her armor was invisible to almost everyone. Except him. He looked at her like he really saw her and she was out of shields to throw up against him.
It’s a strangely comforting thing to be defenseless. Not always, but now and then it makes you remember what it is to be delicate.
The way she had arranged the evidence looked like armor. Printed text message after printed email, the dress with the lace that she found in her closet that was two sizes too small. She laid them on the floor, overlapping, like the metal on chainmail. How would he cut through this defense? She knew he couldn’t. There was no excuse for this. It didn’t stop her from hoping.
What would i do without my armor and my walls? They are the things which allow me to breath, to live, to carry on despite everything. There is no way to exist without them to hold me together when everything else is falling apart.
It’s that very armor that won’t let me have you.
You wear your apathy like a suit of armor, impenetrable even to the sharpest, keenest emotion. You stand unmoved even though all the laughter, joy, hate, and cruelty make you want to crumple in a mess of bone and limbs and wail for all humanity.
to shield me,
to yield me completely
you seek me.
late night when everyone is alone,
you wreak me like havoc,
shine like stars in the sky,
you will inhabit me.
His regular skin was like armour, nearly fitting that of his friend – but the real armour was just his hand, a spirit of wings, cocky clothes and character with ages of practice. Only three people seemed to be able to penetrate that.
He was laughing at some silly joke, then he told a few more. The rest of his friends stood around, looking embarrassed.
“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Sez told his girlfriend. “His best friend just died.” They all stood in a circle in the hospital parking lot, blinking back tears and the effects of the newly risen sun.
“I think he feels a lot,” she replied. “He just wants to be the tough guy, the guy with armor around his soul. He doesn’t want to appear to be a weakling like the rest of us.”
Sez shrugged. “Maybe. But which is better?”
“We’ve all got our ways of coping.” She tugged at his arm. “Let’s go. I want to be somewhere quiet.”
I wear my armor daily. It keeps me shielded and glistening. I feel safe under its weight, under its heat. Crawling inward, i let it fall and coat me like a dipped ice cream cone. Stop, don’t come in. I’m soft inside. You wouldn’t like my flavor, trust me.
there were words and there were knives
under the silhouette of the sunlight
chiseled into bone. i saw
the man with the chainsaw, cutting through
the edge of the mirror, and when he slipped
the cliff of metal caught on my throat
and cut, jagged.
I put on my battle armor every day as I wake up. No, I am not fighting any particular battle against a fantastic, magical army in some wondrous world. But every day is a battle. Every day is a battle in a world where being a woman is a disadvantage, where we are looked down up. When sexism is real and breathing, no matter what the constitution may say. So I must put on my armor and fight back, proving to the world that a woman is as powerful as any man.
I build myself an armor of secrets but really it’s an armor of tissue paper and with every word you whisper to me parts of it disintegrate
flake off
flutter around and form a vortex of comfort
drawing closer to you
and your sweet nothings pierce the final bit of chain link paper as I melt into you
A shell. Meant to protect and keep it’s bearer from harm. Or perhaps that’s an exaggeration. Maybe the armor is meant to shut the wearer out from the world. The cold world. From all the harm and hurt mankind has created.
It was bright, brilliant, and damning all at once. He shined in the hot summer sun, panting with the effort the battle had taken out of him. I fell in love all over again, helping him up with
Armor protects you as much fromm damage as it can, but the problem is that armor can’t help emotional damage. Every single word you say hurts someone, especially if you’re close to them.
I found Cidra dead in the curve of the valley after the battle was over, blood traveling down the slopes of her armor as she lay in her own carnage. Two precise strokes from a dagger decorated the sides of her jaw, making beautiful incisions just across the most valuable blood vessel. I tried to lift her and carry her off so she could have a proper funeral and burial, but she was too heavy for me, and I was too tired and injured to do it without help.
Armor. It’s all my armor- my habits, what I do with my time and my life, the people with which I surround myself, my overprotective, wholeheartedly loving family. The things I say about what I think.
I put armor around myself everyday. The problem is that it may keep me safe but it also keeps me isolated. Being too safe has it’s drawbacks.
Armor is used to protect yourself from other dangers in the world, if you get penetrated with your armor you will die, the weapon will go through your armor and protection and leave you vunerable, this can be also linked to yourself, you start off with a strong piece of armor, then when someone comes along and hurts your inner self, that’s penetrating your armor. This is armor.
The armor chinked as a stone bounded off. Gary looked up. It seemed rocks were being loosed by an unseen force behind the wall. Pebbles begin raining down as larger chucks of brick and mortar begun to free fall.
My armor is now weak. Rusted, broken, and full of weak points. But I wear it still. There is more to it than just physical defense. It is a symbol. A symbol of my defiance to your actions. It is my shield against the hostile universe, not matter what blows it can absorb or not.
She didn’t need metal armor to roam the world. Her body was her armor. Muscles hard as steel under skin as impenetrable as canvas. Unfortunately, when her mouth armored itself, the world missed her words.
galvanzied by the vest in front
wore
by
day’s weary walls
coup me if you will
an army
need beat my armor of tenacity
churlish smile because there’s
that collosell room to smile wider
live larger
think faster
platnium tires on a beach cruiser isn’t calumny
is patriarchy
that armor you wear when tis time to tear into a new sign of dispair!
It’s what holds us together
let’s us find safety in ignorance
that when we take off
is when we grow
it’s momentary but useful
in certain contexts and at certain times
when our truth is vulnerability
when our nature is less nuture
and more
“What good would an armor do now?”-he asked
“well, I don’t know, maybe avoid their bites?”-she answered-“C’mon, they can’t bite through metal”
“Sophie, we don’t have an armor. Drop the idea”
Five people in the room with hardly any food, a generator running out of energy, and yet none of us could find a way to run through what seemed like an army of living dead creatures. We have been stuck here for three days, I don’t think we are going to last much longer
Heavy. Silver. Decorated. Honoured. Stained. Dented. Protection. Pressing. Gleaming. Battle. Armour.
Her armor was invisible to almost everyone. Except him. He looked at her like he really saw her and she was out of shields to throw up against him.
It’s a strangely comforting thing to be defenseless. Not always, but now and then it makes you remember what it is to be delicate.
The way she had arranged the evidence looked like armor. Printed text message after printed email, the dress with the lace that she found in her closet that was two sizes too small. She laid them on the floor, overlapping, like the metal on chainmail. How would he cut through this defense? She knew he couldn’t. There was no excuse for this. It didn’t stop her from hoping.
My dream is my armor. It helps me to take the blows of everyday life. I will keep fighting as long as i have my armor.
What would i do without my armor and my walls? They are the things which allow me to breath, to live, to carry on despite everything. There is no way to exist without them to hold me together when everything else is falling apart.
It’s that very armor that won’t let me have you.
You wear your apathy like a suit of armor, impenetrable even to the sharpest, keenest emotion. You stand unmoved even though all the laughter, joy, hate, and cruelty make you want to crumple in a mess of bone and limbs and wail for all humanity.
to shield me,
to yield me completely
you seek me.
late night when everyone is alone,
you wreak me like havoc,
shine like stars in the sky,
you will inhabit me.
His regular skin was like armour, nearly fitting that of his friend – but the real armour was just his hand, a spirit of wings, cocky clothes and character with ages of practice. Only three people seemed to be able to penetrate that.
It’s what we hold up to protect us from being hurt.
He was laughing at some silly joke, then he told a few more. The rest of his friends stood around, looking embarrassed.
“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Sez told his girlfriend. “His best friend just died.” They all stood in a circle in the hospital parking lot, blinking back tears and the effects of the newly risen sun.
“I think he feels a lot,” she replied. “He just wants to be the tough guy, the guy with armor around his soul. He doesn’t want to appear to be a weakling like the rest of us.”
Sez shrugged. “Maybe. But which is better?”
“We’ve all got our ways of coping.” She tugged at his arm. “Let’s go. I want to be somewhere quiet.”
I wear my armor daily. It keeps me shielded and glistening. I feel safe under its weight, under its heat. Crawling inward, i let it fall and coat me like a dipped ice cream cone. Stop, don’t come in. I’m soft inside. You wouldn’t like my flavor, trust me.
Shits broke, definitely. Armor’s cracked and split.
there were words and there were knives
under the silhouette of the sunlight
chiseled into bone. i saw
the man with the chainsaw, cutting through
the edge of the mirror, and when he slipped
the cliff of metal caught on my throat
and cut, jagged.
I put on my battle armor every day as I wake up. No, I am not fighting any particular battle against a fantastic, magical army in some wondrous world. But every day is a battle. Every day is a battle in a world where being a woman is a disadvantage, where we are looked down up. When sexism is real and breathing, no matter what the constitution may say. So I must put on my armor and fight back, proving to the world that a woman is as powerful as any man.
I build myself an armor of secrets but really it’s an armor of tissue paper and with every word you whisper to me parts of it disintegrate
flake off
flutter around and form a vortex of comfort
drawing closer to you
and your sweet nothings pierce the final bit of chain link paper as I melt into you
A shell. Meant to protect and keep it’s bearer from harm. Or perhaps that’s an exaggeration. Maybe the armor is meant to shut the wearer out from the world. The cold world. From all the harm and hurt mankind has created.
It was bright, brilliant, and damning all at once. He shined in the hot summer sun, panting with the effort the battle had taken out of him. I fell in love all over again, helping him up with
Armor protects you as much fromm damage as it can, but the problem is that armor can’t help emotional damage. Every single word you say hurts someone, especially if you’re close to them.
I found Cidra dead in the curve of the valley after the battle was over, blood traveling down the slopes of her armor as she lay in her own carnage. Two precise strokes from a dagger decorated the sides of her jaw, making beautiful incisions just across the most valuable blood vessel. I tried to lift her and carry her off so she could have a proper funeral and burial, but she was too heavy for me, and I was too tired and injured to do it without help.