i am cross with you.
not because the flowers you gave me were plastic, or that your promises were like the love notes you scribbled – to be tossed into the gratifying window, or that you never looked me in the eye
i am cross, no longer doubtful sad anguished broken hurt, simply cross
that you never told me you didn’t love me after all.
The beaten road stood before me, a long entryway into the city I knew I was destined to be in. I’d spent so much time, so much effort, and so many tears on this dream. I knew I had to get there, so I’d packed up my bags, wrote a note to my parents and kissed my sister on the forehead, turning out the lights as I left and praying the jingling of my keys as I locked the front door didn’t wake anyone. That night seemed so far away now, a distant memory in what felt like years, even though it had only been weeks. I ached to know how my family was doing, to have seen their faces when they woke up to find their little girl’s bed empty. But I knew there was nothing left in the small town for me. Everything I wanted was here, just up this beaten road. I knew I had to get there.
“Are you cross” I asked coyly
“Why would you think that” Esme responded, feinting again with her katana.
“No reason” I had to duck a more vicious swipe, and then I was across the room and out the window, her curses sounding in my ear.
It was what she had to bear. For 60 years. It grew from a mildly but consistently annoying mewl into a sassy constant thorn in her crown and finally into the defiant free thinking daughter she couldn’t stand.
^ This is what comes to mind? A couple of possibilities whizzed through my head upon seeing that word. Maybe someone’s “cross” with someone else, but that just seemed too old-fashioned. Then anime characters with an X in their face popped into my mind, and that uproariously laughing emoticon followed them.
the river and over the bridge there lay a field where flowers once grew and children laughed. the sun still shines there but the children have moved on
It was her cross to bear–the knowledge that she had let them down–that she had let him down. And at the moment when they had needed her most, had counted on her to rise to the occasion.
I once crossed the road when I was little. I didn’t like it much as lots of scary things nearly hit me. I don’t know what they were. I don’t want to know! But they were large and had round things that moved on them! I really didn’t like them. I never want to cross the road again!
All I could think of was how the hell we were gonna get across this place without being killed. The cross road was dangerous and we were in no shape for fighting! Not with Sharon hurt with a broken leg and sprained wrist.
A cross I have to bear, even though it’s heavy and it’s digging into my skin and sometimes I want to just give up and fall down.
Cross your heart and hope to die, except not really. Who really wants to die? If you truly want to there are other ways that are far more effective than using that little spell.
June leaned against the adobe walls solemnly, eying her contact with distrust.
“I don’t know if I believe you, Devona.”
The young woman pushed a long strand of black hair behind her ear, her large hazelnut eyes unblinking. A seemingly nervous gesture, but her dark mouth was sly and effortlessly tugged at the corners.
“Believe me or not, you still have a target on your forehead.”
There are no more slivers of glass on the side of the road. No tatters of clothing. No drops of blood from those who died in the tragic accident. But I can’t pretend it never happened. That no lives were lost there. Three crosses, flowers erupting from the center, wait there. Watching. Screaming silently
Mother took me around all the churches when i was young, as at the time she was studying a university paper relevant to neo classical buildings of which there were many in our town. We would go inside the huge palaces, a cross always near the alter, painted pictures, wall hangings, pictures in stained glass windows, and huge arched ceilings. The outsides were like something from a magical kingdom, there were domes, collums, capitals elegant carvings of leaves and flowers, crosses upon sharp roof tops, and manicured gardens of short grass and tame flowers.
My uncle got married when i was six years old, in a church with many crosses and a bloody naked Jeasus hanging above the alter. Years later the church was sold to a gang and it was boardered up. I wonder what happened to Jeasus above the alter?
His fucking eyes. Couldn’t stand them, wanted them gone. He’d rather wear a mask then show his ugly, dirty-brown coloured eyes to the world. No one deserved it, not even the lowest of the low. The stupid pair of cross-eyes that he’d been given, they made him angry, fucking nuts.
My father was very cross when he found out that I failed my math test. I thought I was going to pass it since he’d helped me study so hard, but that wasn’t to be the case.
crossing the vast sea baby in hand staying away from rats and sick passngers roung sea little to eat but al to get to america the great new land!!! do people still think that?
She wore that cross around her neck, despite being a devout atheist. It was always there as reminder, a reminder of things past, and things to come. A reminder of who he was.
his name always cracked at the end with a metallic edge and all you can remember
after all this time is his crimson hair and the faint smell of expensive liquor.
cross. it crosses her mind that she hasn’t been to church in far too long–what would mommy say? she remembers hard wooden pews and the stiffness of her mother’s sunday best, patent leather shoes squeaking out patterns on the floor that never quite matched the rhythm of the hymns being sung. forgive me father, for i have not been to church in far too long and the cross over my bed falls down every time the trains shoot past on midnight runs and i’ve probably sinned too. confessions made with crossed fingers in dark, warm places that aren’t quite churches don’t count. she thinks all this lying in bed at four in the morning, watching the frost cross the windowpane as a chill takes the night; when the train passes by once again, the weary eyes of the Son on the cross seem to watch her as it plummets once more to the ground.
She reaches under her shirt and grabs the cross. Doesn’t remove it, but holds it in her fist against her chest. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. It’ll get better. It’s there to remind her. It always will be.
“Cross the road, and what do you see?” asked the cat to the rabbit slyly.
“A tree,” replied the rabbit, “A hole in the tree.”
“Now go across, and answer again.”
Crosses to bare. cross the street! Lines to cross. Its not a very pretty word in my opinion. But it holds much meaning especially for Christians like me.
I don’t like people that have crosses on their walls and over their doors. it seems fake to me like they’re saying “anyone whos not obnoxiously religious, keep out.” but maybe i’m just cynical.
Looking at the ground, it’s clear that that invisible line is still there. It mocks me, fully knowing it holds the power I have yet to achieve. But running my fingers down the length of the line, I’m intent on finding a way to cross it.
i am cross with you.
not because the flowers you gave me were plastic, or that your promises were like the love notes you scribbled – to be tossed into the gratifying window, or that you never looked me in the eye
i am cross, no longer doubtful sad anguished broken hurt, simply cross
that you never told me you didn’t love me after all.
I was sick of sitting criss-cross on the floor of her room. But everything just seemed too nice for me to move to another position
The beaten road stood before me, a long entryway into the city I knew I was destined to be in. I’d spent so much time, so much effort, and so many tears on this dream. I knew I had to get there, so I’d packed up my bags, wrote a note to my parents and kissed my sister on the forehead, turning out the lights as I left and praying the jingling of my keys as I locked the front door didn’t wake anyone. That night seemed so far away now, a distant memory in what felt like years, even though it had only been weeks. I ached to know how my family was doing, to have seen their faces when they woke up to find their little girl’s bed empty. But I knew there was nothing left in the small town for me. Everything I wanted was here, just up this beaten road. I knew I had to get there.
“Are you cross” I asked coyly
“Why would you think that” Esme responded, feinting again with her katana.
“No reason” I had to duck a more vicious swipe, and then I was across the room and out the window, her curses sounding in my ear.
I hate seeing you cross. Your anger so pent up, I wish I could help. Just know that I’m alway here.
It was what she had to bear. For 60 years. It grew from a mildly but consistently annoying mewl into a sassy constant thorn in her crown and finally into the defiant free thinking daughter she couldn’t stand.
XD
^ This is what comes to mind? A couple of possibilities whizzed through my head upon seeing that word. Maybe someone’s “cross” with someone else, but that just seemed too old-fashioned. Then anime characters with an X in their face popped into my mind, and that uproariously laughing emoticon followed them.
the river and over the bridge there lay a field where flowers once grew and children laughed. the sun still shines there but the children have moved on
It was her cross to bear–the knowledge that she had let them down–that she had let him down. And at the moment when they had needed her most, had counted on her to rise to the occasion.
Pick it up and follow, he says.
“It’s too hard, i keep falling, the ground is made of broken glass, the weight is unbearable, i think i’m lost…
i’m tired.”
Follow.
I once crossed the road when I was little. I didn’t like it much as lots of scary things nearly hit me. I don’t know what they were. I don’t want to know! But they were large and had round things that moved on them! I really didn’t like them. I never want to cross the road again!
“Go stuff your face with a hot cross bun you ungrateful lard bucket,” I sniped vehemently to Justin.
All I could think of was how the hell we were gonna get across this place without being killed. The cross road was dangerous and we were in no shape for fighting! Not with Sharon hurt with a broken leg and sprained wrist.
A cross I have to bear, even though it’s heavy and it’s digging into my skin and sometimes I want to just give up and fall down.
Cross your heart and hope to die, except not really. Who really wants to die? If you truly want to there are other ways that are far more effective than using that little spell.
Cross love hate sex pleasure
death
and then cold black……
“I cross my heart and hope to die said sarah as she took a sip from the vial of amber poision
Crosses are hypocritical.
June leaned against the adobe walls solemnly, eying her contact with distrust.
“I don’t know if I believe you, Devona.”
The young woman pushed a long strand of black hair behind her ear, her large hazelnut eyes unblinking. A seemingly nervous gesture, but her dark mouth was sly and effortlessly tugged at the corners.
“Believe me or not, you still have a target on your forehead.”
There are no more slivers of glass on the side of the road. No tatters of clothing. No drops of blood from those who died in the tragic accident. But I can’t pretend it never happened. That no lives were lost there. Three crosses, flowers erupting from the center, wait there. Watching. Screaming silently
Mother took me around all the churches when i was young, as at the time she was studying a university paper relevant to neo classical buildings of which there were many in our town. We would go inside the huge palaces, a cross always near the alter, painted pictures, wall hangings, pictures in stained glass windows, and huge arched ceilings. The outsides were like something from a magical kingdom, there were domes, collums, capitals elegant carvings of leaves and flowers, crosses upon sharp roof tops, and manicured gardens of short grass and tame flowers.
The chicken never crossed the road because he never made it to the other side. He got to the middle and……..
My uncle got married when i was six years old, in a church with many crosses and a bloody naked Jeasus hanging above the alter. Years later the church was sold to a gang and it was boardered up. I wonder what happened to Jeasus above the alter?
His fucking eyes. Couldn’t stand them, wanted them gone. He’d rather wear a mask then show his ugly, dirty-brown coloured eyes to the world. No one deserved it, not even the lowest of the low. The stupid pair of cross-eyes that he’d been given, they made him angry, fucking nuts.
My father was very cross when he found out that I failed my math test. I thought I was going to pass it since he’d helped me study so hard, but that wasn’t to be the case.
Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye
The way you crissed and crossed and zigged and zagged down the jumpy jiggly lines of my mind.
crossing the vast sea baby in hand staying away from rats and sick passngers roung sea little to eat but al to get to america the great new land!!! do people still think that?
Crosses, what a beaten…broken and bruised piece of wood…to hold the sins of those who hang…and when they put the sinless it was heaviest of all
you’re always cross,always angry. That is why I’m always scared . Your anger has made me who I am and for that I can never forgive you mother
She wore that cross around her neck, despite being a devout atheist. It was always there as reminder, a reminder of things past, and things to come. A reminder of who he was.
his name always cracked at the end with a metallic edge and all you can remember
after all this time is his crimson hair and the faint smell of expensive liquor.
it’s hard to tell, now; when everything changed.
Do not cross me. I’m smarter than you. I’m older than you. You Will. Not. Win.
Now go away, please.
cross. it crosses her mind that she hasn’t been to church in far too long–what would mommy say? she remembers hard wooden pews and the stiffness of her mother’s sunday best, patent leather shoes squeaking out patterns on the floor that never quite matched the rhythm of the hymns being sung. forgive me father, for i have not been to church in far too long and the cross over my bed falls down every time the trains shoot past on midnight runs and i’ve probably sinned too. confessions made with crossed fingers in dark, warm places that aren’t quite churches don’t count. she thinks all this lying in bed at four in the morning, watching the frost cross the windowpane as a chill takes the night; when the train passes by once again, the weary eyes of the Son on the cross seem to watch her as it plummets once more to the ground.
The cross of Jesus..is crossed when I crossed the road I saw the cross and it twas very crossy yes it was. =S
Ma was cross with me. I had broken her trust. To hell with that, if she hadn’t disallowed me to go see Rocky, I wouldn’t have broken in any rules.
She reaches under her shirt and grabs the cross. Doesn’t remove it, but holds it in her fist against her chest. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. It’ll get better. It’s there to remind her. It always will be.
“Cross the road, and what do you see?” asked the cat to the rabbit slyly.
“A tree,” replied the rabbit, “A hole in the tree.”
“Now go across, and answer again.”
Cross my heart and hope to die
Criss Cross Applesauce
Cross — as a mood
Cross to bear……
Cross the street
Crossing Guard
Cross, boss, moss,
Crosses to bare. cross the street! Lines to cross. Its not a very pretty word in my opinion. But it holds much meaning especially for Christians like me.
I don’t like people that have crosses on their walls and over their doors. it seems fake to me like they’re saying “anyone whos not obnoxiously religious, keep out.” but maybe i’m just cynical.
Looking at the ground, it’s clear that that invisible line is still there. It mocks me, fully knowing it holds the power I have yet to achieve. But running my fingers down the length of the line, I’m intent on finding a way to cross it.