L was never one to grow facial hair. Even if he was, he didn’t have the capability – instead, he was blessed with a position that gave him a multitude of scars and lashes, alongside a face that clung to his youth. Baby-fatted, hairless cheeks, and a title that fell like water from his fingertips.
Shelly had always been very feminine and well groomed. Money had come easy to her, born into it and learned much from it and about it. Life had been well planned out and predictable. But today a ray of sunshine running through the window and onto the magnified mirror she was casually looking at revealed a horror. She was growing a hair on her chin. The kind Little Red Ridinghood pointed out to the Big Bad Wolf. Not a soft, short hair either but a large, stiff WHISKER! The kind no one in her social circle would be caught dead talking about. A post menopausal facial hair that screamed “You are old and grey and sporting a beard now so either get used to it or go get that thing waxed off”.
She was his beard for the night. Trying to make it look good, being very affectionate yet not cloying. Scanning the room she tried to pick out his latest conquest, the one he would go home with later. Being a beard for her employer was a great responsibility and came with great reward. One slip up and she could go from the board room to the mail room by dawn.
Your beard is good. Just a compliment about your beard being good. Billy goat beard. Bearded lady. I can’t grow a beard. ZZ Top all have big beards. I don’t find the word beard very inspiring.
The beard of the blanket was resting on his chin
As if it was his own.
He had always wanted one
But it was something he could not do
Just another thing he was incapable of
Another step he could not climb
So he relied on that blanket to give him a beard.
My dad had a beard when he was younger. Now he has a clean face that he shaves every day. I think he would look funny with a beard. I think it would make him look older, and I wouldn’t like it. When I think of beards, I think of old white men with white beards like Santa Claus.
Looking down, a sickening stench greets you. Bits of rotten fish, complete with mold and fungus, lay scattered in the thick, mess. Old cornflakes, bits of BBQ flavored crisps, chunks of a sticky lollipop you never got round to eat, stare up at you strewed around the spiky, bristly mishmash. Sometimes, you wonder whether you should cut it off and be free? As, you stretch your tongue over to the left to feast on a piece of hairy yet tasty lollipop, you think it may not be that bad having a beard after all…
by I followed my heart and it lead me to the jar of nutella on 03.28.2017
I couldnt believe how long, full, shiny and beautiful his beard was. Its fullness overtaking his face like a garden takes over a sad day. I was in awe. It had a personality of its own.
Beard— represents or is a part of man’s look. It may add to our perception about tahe person in more than one may. Sometimes it helps to form a opinion.
He didn’t understand why, but he knew what had begun it. It was his beard. All this time, he spent hours staring at that reflection of his hideous stubble, and later splurged wallet-fulls of money on finding the right product to make those dark blonde hairs glossy, neat, and the perfect picture of a well-kept and respectable man.
Look at it now. Miss a couple of days without a shower – not even by choice! – and his beard was a frizzy, dull lump. It made him want to scream.
She reached up to touch his face, running her hands over the scraggling hair on his cheek. God, she loved that. She composed herself and patted his cheek lightly, trying to ground herself. “Buck up, buttercup.”
His hand met hers and it took all her strength not to melt.
I find my self wrapped in his arms. Finally he’s come back. It’s about time he looked at me. Not through me but truly at me. The scent of his beard oil the musk of his pits I love him so much.
Still beard? I thought because of American time we might have ticked over to tomorrow’s word. I read somewhere (in a probably unreputable online source) that women are predisposed to prefer beards or cleanshaven at different times, often preferring the minority. I feel like we are reaching the end of a many years long Beard Season and are drifting back into a Clean Shaven Season. My man is clean shaven, but – unfortunately for my permanently, achingly besotted heart – his laughing face always in season to me.
Every human being gets a beard. Every person thinks by putting arms at the beard. It’s a common thing. Especially it’s the same habit followed by writers. When They thinks about novel.
Déjate crecer la barba, dijeron. Es mucho más cómodo, repetían. Sí, ya. ¿Y qué hago yo ahora con esta cara peluda que solo me exige atención? Peina, lava, vuelve a peinar. ¡Quién fuera barbilampiño para poder vivir en paz!
She could never decide if she liked beards. She didn’t have another experience to know if kissing someone with one was a nice experience, but so far she knew that kissing someone with the ability to grow a beard could be a scratchy experience if they didn’t shave close enough. Most of the time when she saw someone with a beard her noticed two things; if the beard was streaked with grey, if the texture was dissimilar to the hair on their head, and
In this modern age
Where manhood appears to be lost
There are still those who stand and defend
Who will not be deterred by insurmountable challenges
Those who will fiercely beard injustice
Who bristle at the thought of the weaker
Maligned by abominable oppressor
Possessing noble character
Soldiers of pure heart
Superheroes in mild-mannered disguise
The rough hair coming off your chin, the sides of your face, is just long enough for my fingers to twist and tangle in. An absent-minded habit, I have learned each stray curl, each split end…I know it better than you do. The rhythmic, thump of my fingers on your chin called affection.
To be honest, it was a habit borne out of boredom, of laying in the dark with no words to say, even when there should have been. A sweet touch that was more of a way of solidifying my spot in your heart, even if yours was not permanent in mine. Even if I was aware of all this every step of the way.
Calculating—how to fill the time and quiet, how to make you not doubt my affections I doubt myself?
I turn my head at just the right angle, pressing against your skin just the right way. The content look on your half-asleep face is broken by a small smile growing a little wider. My hand is under my own cheek—too closed off, too distant. I reach up and hesitantly touch your chin—you pull me closer, a full smile of bliss, a bald island in the dark forest of your face. My moves thought through have succeeded, and this is a pleasant enough way to let time tick by if we are unable to connect in any other way.
Long, chestnut, braided. Tucked into his belt, it was still log enough to sway from side to side as he walked. His hat was pulled low on his head, and his eyes glittered from beneath his bushy eyebrows.
Gee, Papa, I wish I could grow a beard like yours. A beautiful, bushy beard that hides your smile. A beard that makes you rugged like a lonely mountaineer. A beard that keeps the cold out and the heat against your lips. A beard that tickles ladies’ faces when you kiss them, one by one. I won’t let Mama know, no. I promise that I won’t. I’ll just grow a beard like yours one day so no one knows who we are.
Aman named Malone had a long beard that touched his toes. It was hard to walk because he frequently tripped over it and had many broken bones. He had a Hospital VIP card. The nurses shipped him with over VIPs.
She’s over men with beards and finds the “Brother Ezekiel” look to be disgusting. Especially after the last one tried to mansplain the finer points of an article she had written as if she didn’t know anything of it. Clearly he didn’t know jack shit about the author of the piece that he kept incorrectly quoting. And of course he would prove to be a fundamentalist masquerading as some kind of hipster.
a beard is something that grows up underneath a males chin and is facial hair.
A beard is the collection of hair that grows on the chin and cheeks of humans and some non human animals.
hair you grow under your chin
Most grown men have Beards
facial hair
some thing that grose on your face
something you have on your face
a beard is facial hair that grows under you chin
face hair.
facial hair below the mouth and to the sides of a face.
Facial Hair.
I have a awesome beard on my face
L was never one to grow facial hair. Even if he was, he didn’t have the capability – instead, he was blessed with a position that gave him a multitude of scars and lashes, alongside a face that clung to his youth. Baby-fatted, hairless cheeks, and a title that fell like water from his fingertips.
No! You can not keep that thing. But why? Because, it stinks, it scratches me and it looks horrid. Thats not fair, its only a beard.
Shelly had always been very feminine and well groomed. Money had come easy to her, born into it and learned much from it and about it. Life had been well planned out and predictable. But today a ray of sunshine running through the window and onto the magnified mirror she was casually looking at revealed a horror. She was growing a hair on her chin. The kind Little Red Ridinghood pointed out to the Big Bad Wolf. Not a soft, short hair either but a large, stiff WHISKER! The kind no one in her social circle would be caught dead talking about. A post menopausal facial hair that screamed “You are old and grey and sporting a beard now so either get used to it or go get that thing waxed off”.
She was his beard for the night. Trying to make it look good, being very affectionate yet not cloying. Scanning the room she tried to pick out his latest conquest, the one he would go home with later. Being a beard for her employer was a great responsibility and came with great reward. One slip up and she could go from the board room to the mail room by dawn.
Your beard is good. Just a compliment about your beard being good. Billy goat beard. Bearded lady. I can’t grow a beard. ZZ Top all have big beards. I don’t find the word beard very inspiring.
The beard of the blanket was resting on his chin
As if it was his own.
He had always wanted one
But it was something he could not do
Just another thing he was incapable of
Another step he could not climb
So he relied on that blanket to give him a beard.
My dad had a beard when he was younger. Now he has a clean face that he shaves every day. I think he would look funny with a beard. I think it would make him look older, and I wouldn’t like it. When I think of beards, I think of old white men with white beards like Santa Claus.
My dad has a big beard and my grandpa to he looks like santa they have big beard
Looking down, a sickening stench greets you. Bits of rotten fish, complete with mold and fungus, lay scattered in the thick, mess. Old cornflakes, bits of BBQ flavored crisps, chunks of a sticky lollipop you never got round to eat, stare up at you strewed around the spiky, bristly mishmash. Sometimes, you wonder whether you should cut it off and be free? As, you stretch your tongue over to the left to feast on a piece of hairy yet tasty lollipop, you think it may not be that bad having a beard after all…
I couldnt believe how long, full, shiny and beautiful his beard was. Its fullness overtaking his face like a garden takes over a sad day. I was in awe. It had a personality of its own.
Beard— represents or is a part of man’s look. It may add to our perception about tahe person in more than one may. Sometimes it helps to form a opinion.
Irritation blossomed in him.
He didn’t understand why, but he knew what had begun it. It was his beard. All this time, he spent hours staring at that reflection of his hideous stubble, and later splurged wallet-fulls of money on finding the right product to make those dark blonde hairs glossy, neat, and the perfect picture of a well-kept and respectable man.
Look at it now. Miss a couple of days without a shower – not even by choice! – and his beard was a frizzy, dull lump. It made him want to scream.
She reached up to touch his face, running her hands over the scraggling hair on his cheek. God, she loved that. She composed herself and patted his cheek lightly, trying to ground herself. “Buck up, buttercup.”
His hand met hers and it took all her strength not to melt.
I find my self wrapped in his arms. Finally he’s come back. It’s about time he looked at me. Not through me but truly at me. The scent of his beard oil the musk of his pits I love him so much.
All the thinkers have it. Great actors, artists, sportsperson wear it with elan and candour. They look brooding young men with intense minds at work.
Still beard? I thought because of American time we might have ticked over to tomorrow’s word. I read somewhere (in a probably unreputable online source) that women are predisposed to prefer beards or cleanshaven at different times, often preferring the minority. I feel like we are reaching the end of a many years long Beard Season and are drifting back into a Clean Shaven Season. My man is clean shaven, but – unfortunately for my permanently, achingly besotted heart – his laughing face always in season to me.
Every human being gets a beard. Every person thinks by putting arms at the beard. It’s a common thing. Especially it’s the same habit followed by writers. When They thinks about novel.
Déjate crecer la barba, dijeron. Es mucho más cómodo, repetían. Sí, ya. ¿Y qué hago yo ahora con esta cara peluda que solo me exige atención? Peina, lava, vuelve a peinar. ¡Quién fuera barbilampiño para poder vivir en paz!
my pubus regious growdous a beardous. Long and lengthy most times wavy.
beardy your fuckn wierd.
She could never decide if she liked beards. She didn’t have another experience to know if kissing someone with one was a nice experience, but so far she knew that kissing someone with the ability to grow a beard could be a scratchy experience if they didn’t shave close enough. Most of the time when she saw someone with a beard her noticed two things; if the beard was streaked with grey, if the texture was dissimilar to the hair on their head, and
In this modern age
Where manhood appears to be lost
There are still those who stand and defend
Who will not be deterred by insurmountable challenges
Those who will fiercely beard injustice
Who bristle at the thought of the weaker
Maligned by abominable oppressor
Possessing noble character
Soldiers of pure heart
Superheroes in mild-mannered disguise
He used you to mislead others about his identity, but he didn’t tell you. He made you believe him like a fool. You didn’t matter.
Facial hair that can transform a man from a 3 to a 10.
I haven’t had time or the inkling to shave, Grubby yes, but I don’t care. I put my
The rough hair coming off your chin, the sides of your face, is just long enough for my fingers to twist and tangle in. An absent-minded habit, I have learned each stray curl, each split end…I know it better than you do. The rhythmic, thump of my fingers on your chin called affection.
To be honest, it was a habit borne out of boredom, of laying in the dark with no words to say, even when there should have been. A sweet touch that was more of a way of solidifying my spot in your heart, even if yours was not permanent in mine. Even if I was aware of all this every step of the way.
Calculating—how to fill the time and quiet, how to make you not doubt my affections I doubt myself?
I turn my head at just the right angle, pressing against your skin just the right way. The content look on your half-asleep face is broken by a small smile growing a little wider. My hand is under my own cheek—too closed off, too distant. I reach up and hesitantly touch your chin—you pull me closer, a full smile of bliss, a bald island in the dark forest of your face. My moves thought through have succeeded, and this is a pleasant enough way to let time tick by if we are unable to connect in any other way.
Long, chestnut, braided. Tucked into his belt, it was still log enough to sway from side to side as he walked. His hat was pulled low on his head, and his eyes glittered from beneath his bushy eyebrows.
Gee, Papa, I wish I could grow a beard like yours. A beautiful, bushy beard that hides your smile. A beard that makes you rugged like a lonely mountaineer. A beard that keeps the cold out and the heat against your lips. A beard that tickles ladies’ faces when you kiss them, one by one. I won’t let Mama know, no. I promise that I won’t. I’ll just grow a beard like yours one day so no one knows who we are.
Aman named Malone had a long beard that touched his toes. It was hard to walk because he frequently tripped over it and had many broken bones. He had a Hospital VIP card. The nurses shipped him with over VIPs.
She’s over men with beards and finds the “Brother Ezekiel” look to be disgusting. Especially after the last one tried to mansplain the finer points of an article she had written as if she didn’t know anything of it. Clearly he didn’t know jack shit about the author of the piece that he kept incorrectly quoting. And of course he would prove to be a fundamentalist masquerading as some kind of hipster.