I think of ballet barre. Different spelling, I know. But I think of my best friend–who is a ballerina. She is the epitome of grace, poise and beauty. I aspire to be like her.
Gymnast words somer-assaulted
from the bars of your tongue
and bounced off your cushion lips,
landing way too hard on my heart.
–
Your standard, ending routine.
A perfect execution.
i couldn’t imagine life behind bars. stuck in cold concrete square of a “room” behind iron bars. that’s not living. and you’re right, because it’s punishment.
Bars of soap. Bars with alcohol. Bars on a window- HARRY POTTER, ahem sorry. I saw this swanky prison in Monaco yesterday. Mum says she’d love to stay there. Getting suspicious…. I hate bars. So restricting. But at the same time, great for swinging!
She looked between the bars at the person she thought she had known. He was still the same appearance wise, but she knew deep down he was different. Being a prisoner did that, made you appear different. She sighed and twisted her fingers together as she tried to think of something to say, anything that could make the moment less awkward. He looked up at her and smiled. “Beth, you don’t have to visit if you don’t want too” he whispered looking like he might cry from the other side of the bars.
We hated that sour, musky smell of cigarette smoke and year-old vomit.
We despised watching the counter slowly fill with dirty glass cups and empty bottles.
Most of all, we loathed the vulgar pickup lines being recycled night after night: “Do you like sleeping? So do I. We should try it together sometime.”
Yet we would always come back to sit on those sordid little stools, trying to drown our sorrows; only to discover that alcohol merely feeds the flame.
The bars and clubs are full of aloof yearning, all they want its to be resting in the arms of love, feeling the warmth of another heart beating in rhythm with theirs. What if everybody started telling the truth? What if everybody let down their defences and saw at last that we are all the same?
keeping me from you, locked away in a dark corner i cant help but try and stay sane without the laughter and without the despair of the real world. these bars are keeping me trapped, or my fear of never being able to be a part of society again, it seems that i have come to the inevitable truth that i will never feel plenary with my life. i feel discrete from the world that has grown on me and how attached i have become to it, this sudden abscission to the beauty of my surroundings has caused me great distress and i must bid you a farewell to what has now become a life behind bars, the bars of an iniquitous girl.
I have been to a lot of bars. Years ago I picked up men there. Just to have sex, get free drinks, start an affair. Those days are long gone. I don’t miss them either. I wasn’t myself those days. I was a whoring liar.
surrounded. tap, tap. secured. skips around.. walks passed. drunken lumber slurrs, “help me.” looks back. smiles.. “once your ready you can help yourself.” the fairy glitters follow in the path as she runs along, humming an off tune from her favourite song.
bars. Keep a body trapped. Caged away in darkness. But bars. Bars cannot trap a soul, a spirit or a mind. No. Bars have no meaning when one is free in their mind.
she stood there,
gaping at the outside world,
that she had missed greatly.
it was her fault for getting herself behind bars,
her recklessness,
no, her foolishness in thinking that she can do whatever she wanted.
She could of course,
Why couldn’t she?
It was this fact that had led her to do what she had done.
It was this that had led her to take advantage of it.
The statement alone, led her to her doom.
Well, here I am. Stuck behind bars. Powerless to the person I am. Stuck not moving. Wanting change yet nothing comes. Set me free. Damn, please set me free. I’m not okay.
I want to put bars on all the windows and doors to keep us secluded in this bubble…I don’t want the people and the things in the outside world right now. I want to be in our heads together…
Terminaba otro día de insufrible tortura en la escuela. Otra mala nota en la libreta. Otra herida en las rodillas por un empujón que no tenía nada de casual. Otro sobrenombre que agregar a la lista. Y otro día en que agradecía poder llegar dos horas antes que su madre a casa, tiempo suficiente como para limpiar toda suciedad de su ropa. Ya estaba acostumbrada a las caídas, a los golpes y a las burlas.
Entonces metió las manos en los bolsillos de su chaqueta y en unos de ellos sus dedos sintieron algo inesperadamente frío. Era una moneda. Miró el kiosko de la esquina y a su mente vino la imagen de la nueva barra de chocolate que anunciaban en la TV.
Sonríe. Por un día podría permitirse una pequeña alegría.
The smell of wooden walls and dead leaves. The churning of the hot tub. The small fire that awaits us after the fresh grilled steak dinner. We will end the night with wine in that hot tub and the best part of the whole trip – no kids to bother us and 2 cell phones with no bars.
They raised above her, the bars that held her into her prison. She pulled her knees tighter to her as she sat on the bed that seemed, to her, to be the only place that light reached. The door was open but no light came through, just the light through the window. Her mind traced her the shadows, wishing for freedom. She stood up, running her fingers down the length of the window, wanting to be on the other side, but the bars that weren’t, held her in her own prison.
In art class we had to make a barcode project which was a lot of fun and I would do it anyday although I wish I would have thought of melting crayons down a board because that would have been a lot more fun! But oh well my graphic designed barcode turned out pretty sweel!
I’m jailed behind bars at the moment. These bars are making it hard for me. I don’t know if I’ll ever get out. Oh God. Please help me. I want to get out of these bars.
i sit in the bars. but i am not twenty one
i have bars on my phone. but i am not texting anyone.
there are bars on the windows. but they don’t incarcerate me.
there are bars in my brain.
and i will break through
The metal of the monkey bars is cool against my palm and I remember being a kid, too gangly and loose limbed to be able to pull myself up to the top. My sneaker sips against the foot ladder and Jamie has to reach out to grab me so I can sit next to her on the top. Like this we overlook the shadowy playground.
Honkytonk badonkadonk and oohwee, shut your mouth, slap your grandma! That song has been going through my head all day. I dunno, I’d like to go to a bar with my friends when I’m old enough to do so legally, it always seems so fun.
Life behind bars is something I hope to never experience. I do not want to live in a life of crime and fear that I may never get out. I have a clean criminal record and I want to keep it like that.
I remember a time when my dad used to go to bars. my mom and I would go and drop him off at 11 pm and have to go and get him at 2am. I hatre my dad with a passion. I hope lord vishnu makes him a miskito in his next life
There is a town bar I go to called the cherry stick, first glance you wouldn’t think it’s a bar, but it is. I sit down at the bar, three stools from the first one and I say, “black cherry mike,” the guy looks at me and says restroom. Indelible, I ask what he said, he replied bathroom. Bewildered with what he is saying I ask what his name was, he said:
Man: Who…
Me: you!
Man: yes.
Me: your name?
Man: who!
Me: who? Who?
Man: no, who!
I stop and look at the man with an abject facial expression, then come around the corner comes a man with the word black cherry mike on his shirt and high fives the man and says what’s up who!
So this guy walks into a bar… No not one of those old lame jokes. He is a detective, and instead of getting a drink with the boys, he’s investigating a gruesome murder that took place here just minutes ago. The murder weapon is still hot.
I was trapped. Looking at the bars on the windows, I knew I was stuck, and I would be here for a long time. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was a prisoner of my own demise. Trapped mentally, not in a physical sense, which is worse than anything else.
I think that sometimes life was meant to have limits.
Other times, I’m not so sure.
When I was 8, I tried climbing the jungle gym, but someone stopped me, and said I was too young.
Is life just a waiting game?
jump
Dodge
Kneel
Over
under
on
the bar
Push you self where you’ve never been before
And maybe you make it to the other side
maybe we’ll make it
to the after life
The bars in the cell door cast empty shadows across the floor, climbing up and over the prisoner and through the window, trying to escape but falling into nothingness once they reached the moonlight outside.
I think of ballet barre. Different spelling, I know. But I think of my best friend–who is a ballerina. She is the epitome of grace, poise and beauty. I aspire to be like her.
Bars and stars red, white and blue
Patriotic glee
Fireworks and sparklers
Independent, free!
Justice spreads the loyal blue
Blood the dripping stream
Purity of cause the crisp white bars
Hope the starlit gleam
“We remember” blazons ‘cross each heart
But freedom’s yet to earn
Remember well by sacrifice
Today is where we learn
“Mama”
Sept. 8, 2011
Gymnast words somer-assaulted
from the bars of your tongue
and bounced off your cushion lips,
landing way too hard on my heart.
–
Your standard, ending routine.
A perfect execution.
i couldn’t imagine life behind bars. stuck in cold concrete square of a “room” behind iron bars. that’s not living. and you’re right, because it’s punishment.
Bars of soap. Bars with alcohol. Bars on a window- HARRY POTTER, ahem sorry. I saw this swanky prison in Monaco yesterday. Mum says she’d love to stay there. Getting suspicious…. I hate bars. So restricting. But at the same time, great for swinging!
She looked between the bars at the person she thought she had known. He was still the same appearance wise, but she knew deep down he was different. Being a prisoner did that, made you appear different. She sighed and twisted her fingers together as she tried to think of something to say, anything that could make the moment less awkward. He looked up at her and smiled. “Beth, you don’t have to visit if you don’t want too” he whispered looking like he might cry from the other side of the bars.
We hated that sour, musky smell of cigarette smoke and year-old vomit.
We despised watching the counter slowly fill with dirty glass cups and empty bottles.
Most of all, we loathed the vulgar pickup lines being recycled night after night: “Do you like sleeping? So do I. We should try it together sometime.”
Yet we would always come back to sit on those sordid little stools, trying to drown our sorrows; only to discover that alcohol merely feeds the flame.
The bars and clubs are full of aloof yearning, all they want its to be resting in the arms of love, feeling the warmth of another heart beating in rhythm with theirs. What if everybody started telling the truth? What if everybody let down their defences and saw at last that we are all the same?
keeping me from you, locked away in a dark corner i cant help but try and stay sane without the laughter and without the despair of the real world. these bars are keeping me trapped, or my fear of never being able to be a part of society again, it seems that i have come to the inevitable truth that i will never feel plenary with my life. i feel discrete from the world that has grown on me and how attached i have become to it, this sudden abscission to the beauty of my surroundings has caused me great distress and i must bid you a farewell to what has now become a life behind bars, the bars of an iniquitous girl.
I have been to a lot of bars. Years ago I picked up men there. Just to have sex, get free drinks, start an affair. Those days are long gone. I don’t miss them either. I wasn’t myself those days. I was a whoring liar.
Hidden behind bars.
they have you under lock and key.
but do not fear,
my love, for you I will free.
I’ll remove the shackles,
break down the iron cell door.
We’ll walk from this prison
together, like we did once
before.
surrounded. tap, tap. secured. skips around.. walks passed. drunken lumber slurrs, “help me.” looks back. smiles.. “once your ready you can help yourself.” the fairy glitters follow in the path as she runs along, humming an off tune from her favourite song.
music al and inspiring…sounds float along bars to the minds and hearts of the universe.
bars. Keep a body trapped. Caged away in darkness. But bars. Bars cannot trap a soul, a spirit or a mind. No. Bars have no meaning when one is free in their mind.
she stood there,
gaping at the outside world,
that she had missed greatly.
it was her fault for getting herself behind bars,
her recklessness,
no, her foolishness in thinking that she can do whatever she wanted.
She could of course,
Why couldn’t she?
It was this fact that had led her to do what she had done.
It was this that had led her to take advantage of it.
The statement alone, led her to her doom.
Well, here I am. Stuck behind bars. Powerless to the person I am. Stuck not moving. Wanting change yet nothing comes. Set me free. Damn, please set me free. I’m not okay.
I want to put bars on all the windows and doors to keep us secluded in this bubble…I don’t want the people and the things in the outside world right now. I want to be in our heads together…
Terminaba otro día de insufrible tortura en la escuela. Otra mala nota en la libreta. Otra herida en las rodillas por un empujón que no tenía nada de casual. Otro sobrenombre que agregar a la lista. Y otro día en que agradecía poder llegar dos horas antes que su madre a casa, tiempo suficiente como para limpiar toda suciedad de su ropa. Ya estaba acostumbrada a las caídas, a los golpes y a las burlas.
Entonces metió las manos en los bolsillos de su chaqueta y en unos de ellos sus dedos sintieron algo inesperadamente frío. Era una moneda. Miró el kiosko de la esquina y a su mente vino la imagen de la nueva barra de chocolate que anunciaban en la TV.
Sonríe. Por un día podría permitirse una pequeña alegría.
The smell of wooden walls and dead leaves. The churning of the hot tub. The small fire that awaits us after the fresh grilled steak dinner. We will end the night with wine in that hot tub and the best part of the whole trip – no kids to bother us and 2 cell phones with no bars.
They raised above her, the bars that held her into her prison. She pulled her knees tighter to her as she sat on the bed that seemed, to her, to be the only place that light reached. The door was open but no light came through, just the light through the window. Her mind traced her the shadows, wishing for freedom. She stood up, running her fingers down the length of the window, wanting to be on the other side, but the bars that weren’t, held her in her own prison.
In art class we had to make a barcode project which was a lot of fun and I would do it anyday although I wish I would have thought of melting crayons down a board because that would have been a lot more fun! But oh well my graphic designed barcode turned out pretty sweel!
I’m jailed behind bars at the moment. These bars are making it hard for me. I don’t know if I’ll ever get out. Oh God. Please help me. I want to get out of these bars.
i sit in the bars. but i am not twenty one
i have bars on my phone. but i am not texting anyone.
there are bars on the windows. but they don’t incarcerate me.
there are bars in my brain.
and i will break through
The metal of the monkey bars is cool against my palm and I remember being a kid, too gangly and loose limbed to be able to pull myself up to the top. My sneaker sips against the foot ladder and Jamie has to reach out to grab me so I can sit next to her on the top. Like this we overlook the shadowy playground.
A man walks into a bar. He says, “Ouch.”
You’re sitting on your stairs, and you might as well be behind iron bars.
Years of living in the same place, around the same people, haunted by the same demons. You’re in a prison inside a box disguised as a home.
Carefully crafted bars, standing tall and strong on each step.
They always look pretty on the outside.
Being at a bar… I don’t drink, and I don’t smoke… Not really a place I would call home.
Honkytonk badonkadonk and oohwee, shut your mouth, slap your grandma! That song has been going through my head all day. I dunno, I’d like to go to a bar with my friends when I’m old enough to do so legally, it always seems so fun.
Life behind bars is something I hope to never experience. I do not want to live in a life of crime and fear that I may never get out. I have a clean criminal record and I want to keep it like that.
I remember a time when my dad used to go to bars. my mom and I would go and drop him off at 11 pm and have to go and get him at 2am. I hatre my dad with a passion. I hope lord vishnu makes him a miskito in his next life
To be behind bars is not a good feeling, I know because I have been there, in the system as an employee, and as a person. It makes you feel helpless.
There is a town bar I go to called the cherry stick, first glance you wouldn’t think it’s a bar, but it is. I sit down at the bar, three stools from the first one and I say, “black cherry mike,” the guy looks at me and says restroom. Indelible, I ask what he said, he replied bathroom. Bewildered with what he is saying I ask what his name was, he said:
Man: Who…
Me: you!
Man: yes.
Me: your name?
Man: who!
Me: who? Who?
Man: no, who!
I stop and look at the man with an abject facial expression, then come around the corner comes a man with the word black cherry mike on his shirt and high fives the man and says what’s up who!
“what is it,you bucket of bolts?”
“my programing bars me from answering that question. ”
“I programed you.what is he doing? ”
“then you you know I can not tell you that he is throwing a fit.”
So this guy walks into a bar… No not one of those old lame jokes. He is a detective, and instead of getting a drink with the boys, he’s investigating a gruesome murder that took place here just minutes ago. The murder weapon is still hot.
I was trapped. Looking at the bars on the windows, I knew I was stuck, and I would be here for a long time. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was a prisoner of my own demise. Trapped mentally, not in a physical sense, which is worse than anything else.
They lifted themselves up off the dirty ground, trying to get a grip on reality.
It had been a grate night. Lying on the concrete for half of it, discretely trying to recover complete thoughts for the rest of it.
But who cares?
You have to have fun when you don’t remember why there’s blood running down your legs…
I think that sometimes life was meant to have limits.
Other times, I’m not so sure.
When I was 8, I tried climbing the jungle gym, but someone stopped me, and said I was too young.
Is life just a waiting game?
bars
jump
Dodge
Kneel
Over
under
on
the bar
Push you self where you’ve never been before
And maybe you make it to the other side
maybe we’ll make it
to the after life
The bars in the cell door cast empty shadows across the floor, climbing up and over the prisoner and through the window, trying to escape but falling into nothingness once they reached the moonlight outside.