solve it. make it. longing to scream and yell, wanting to you see the point I’m trying to make. but you sit there unashamed of everything you’ve done. Your arrogant smirk driving blood to my eyes.
ummm family, friends. terrible. ends relationships. breaks bonds. kills everything good. can be over a piece of clothing or a person or a house or a life. nothing is safe.
They argued for ages, but nothing came of it. Slowly they tired and young men became old men. Babies were born and people died. But the dispute didn’t die. They passed it on to their children. And their children passed it to their children. A never ending cycle.
Argument fight. I had one last night. It was one-sided but it hurt all involved. Maybe dispute isn’t the right word for what we had, but I can’t seem to get it off my mind, so it seems only appropriate that this was the word today.
talking things out
dont think just talk listen dont be cruel just be willing to comprmise
two or more people talking about a specific issue and trying to have a debate about a problem
Disputes are classy arguments. Lawyers get into disputes and old people who don’t want to say their fighting also dispute. It makes me think of the days when things were civilized. Why can’t we go back to those times, when people had disputes and things weren’t solved by swearing at each other or resorting to violence?
Dispute. Happens every day. My mother just went into the shower perfectly happy, only to come out aggrivated. (I refrain from calling her a little bitch in hopes of being a bit more respectful.)Anyway, she yells. I whistle. Just to piss her off.
I do not dispute that I saw that. I dispute the dispute. Frankly, disputing anything is stupid. Just decide on what you want to say. Disputing is a waste of time. Let’s not distpute for the sake of arguing, cause I don’t like to piss off people. I don’t like confrontation. So let’s not go there.
i disagree with you, with the air you breathe, the ground you stand on, the electrons circling weightlessly or speedlessly all around every nucleus in your body. I object, I abjure, I am disinclined to go along with your thinking, you have it wrong, you don’t get it, you have missed the point, the point has impaled you, you are puted way off into the dis-tance.
The dispute never ended. I stood there, or rather sat, looking up at the everlasting putdowns. I could ask myself the extremely unoriginal question that everyone with parents going through divorce have. Why can’t they just get along? But *I* new the answer to that.
there was a dispute in my family and no one could stop it. my life was full of horrors and everyone around me pitied me. Everything about it was so stupid. Sure, my parents fought no one ever believe a word I said. Things weren’t as bad as they seemed though.
it is something that doesn’t make sense but who am i to dispute it? would the lie go away just because i protest it’s validity? they made up their minds and used a lie to move along their decision. do i waste my energy on them by disputing this? no
I don’t want to bother with this anymore, she thought. But I don’t know how to stop him. Almost unconsciously, her fingers caressed the latest marks of his love, or so he said. Whenever Sheila thought about this, her eyes fell on the knives in the closet. Of course, Bobby only used them for cleaning the results of his hunting expeditions, but what if?
And then there were the guns, but they were always unloaded, she made sure of that. A heated argument that threatened his security in her could – but no, she refused to let herself think of what could happen. Her mind fixated instead on the very presence of the knives, that became like the eery music in horror films played just before the scream. She never let the guns so much as cross her mind.
Just one more day, she told herself. After all, it’s Friday and we’ll go out tonight and everything will be fine.
If I don’t do something tonight, then when will I do it? Tonight’s as good a night as any. After all, if not tonight, will it be any night?
Sheila grabbed a sheet of paper to organize her thoughts. She had about three hours before he’d come home, and she needed every second to get herself ready for this.
“Dear Bobby,” she started, and then she let everything onto the paper. Ten minutes later, she crossed something out and started over. Finally, an hour later, she set her pen down and pondered the note. She treated paper and pen like a confessional, always listening and never critical. Sheila shuddered imagining saying any of those things out loud, regardless of their truth. A brief image of the closet popped back into her head and she had an idea she knew she could live through.
What? Live with, I meant live with, she thought. Okay, this HAS to get done today. And with that, she folded the note and put it in the front pocket of her washed out jeans. She rummaged in the closet and grabbed the knives, all of them. Then, she ripped open drawers full of Bobby’s clothes and wrapped the knives in piles of them – slipped in a sock, rolled in a pant leg, and soon the entirety of Bobby’s wardrobe lay on the bed.
Only ten minutes until he came home. Sheila panicked. She took the pile to the disgusting green dumpster across the street, knowing he’d never bother to fish them out of there.
She still wasn’t sure if she could go through with the confrontation, and so she decided to give herself a little extra time. It was inevitable now, since he had not a single change of clothes left in her trailer, and none anywhere else. She hopped into her scraped up black Pontiac and drove in the opposite direction of the office where he worked. The last thing she wanted to do was pass him coming home. Dust rose up in wake of her, encouaged by the summer heat. A thunderstorm was brewing, goaded on by the heat.
She pulled off the road after two or three miles to find, behind some oddly lush greenery, an isolated duck pond. Sheila often came here when she needed to think. It was here that, as a teenager, she had sought a hiding place after her father died.
She breathed heavily, as though she’d run a marathon, and tried desperately not to cry. There was no way she could let him see her tears. Trying to calm herself down, she remembered the note. Breathing deeper, she skimmed over the opening lines. The more she read it, the more she realized it said everything she could absolutely never say to his darling face, and yet most definitively needed saying. Maybe I can still beat him back home, she thought, jumping in the car again.
When she pulled up to the trailer, however, his car was already parked there, and Leia was on her run in the back. As nonchalantly as she could, Sheila walked in to see what she would find.
A head of brown hair, slumped on the kitchen table, supported only by arms. Still in his work clothes, the poor baby. The words stuck in her throat, so she pushed them out of the way.
He raised his head to look at her, and in his eyes she could read the question which was burning into his very being. Why?
When she was fairly sure she could speak, Sheila found the courage to say, “Why are you here?”
After all, why would Bobby still be there? He had no reason, really. If Sheila had more guts, she would have kicked him out, but she still wasn’t about to let this problem go back below the surface. It was too late for any kind of resolution; she wanted him out.
Bobby didn’t move. He was probably in too much shock. Sheila forced herself to shoo away the sympathy in her heart and pull him out of the chair. She had to get him out of there before his shock turned into anger.
He didn’t resist, but let her push him out of the door. She fumbled to get the screen door opened from behind him. His dress pants were loose enough that he didn’t notice her slip the note into his back pocket.
The storm clouds that had been brewing that day had unleashed downpours accompanied by heat-induced lightning, and he had no choice but to get in his car and drive away. His lights came on and he sat in the driveway for a moment, hesitant. It made her wonder where he’d go. He was wondering the same thing, it appeared. She turned away from the door. Her own direction was perhaps just as unclear.
Sorry I was so long on you guys, this one just said something to me!!
The flowers were all colours of the rainbow. Lucy wasn’t sure if it was worth the argument or not. A mother-in-law can be an ugly thing to dispute with. She valued Brandon’s peace of mind more, and chose to go with the florist mother’s decision.
This was the final dispute. There was no turning back, once the words had been spoken. She’d been sick of these disputes, sick of the arguments, the never ending fights. But this was her chance. Her chance to get everything she had been keeping from them, out in the open. Even if it caused a fight, she was ready. She would not turn back, could not turn back. She was a fighter.
quarreling like birds over the last worm of the day. corruplent wives snatching the last cuts of meat from each other’s hands. the children kicking the ball from underneath the other children.
a place that isn’t quite like home, the snuggle of another cold surface. those blank pages are a shiver up my spine. yell it out till the lungs burst. there is only persuasion.
We didn’t know which way was best, but neither of us wanted to change our minds. I said what I wanted, but you didn’t see my point. I guess I’ll have to live with it for now.
all these relationships ebb and flow on a cantankerous ocean that hopes to drown them all to nowhere. we are all fighting all the time, sometimes for something most of the time for nothing. i hate the fool with a cause.
I can’t remember what the last dispute I had was. With my mom? Brother? Boyfriend? Yeah, it was probably the boyfriend. He’s always in the mood for a good argument.. Or should I use the word “dispute!”
they solved the dispute this way. he tied the firecracker to the donkey’s tale. then he kicked the animal to start it ambling slowly across the field, dragging the homemade explosive behind it. when after 30 seconds or so Mulligan’s firework finally blew, the donkey, clearly terrified out of it’s wits bolted far faster than they had ever seen it move before. “you see” said Mulligan “donkey’s can move fast if they have to”
the fight was immaculate. the perfect dispute. an argument with so much logic, it could never be doubted. right?
wrong. disputes are never perfect. they jab. they hurt. they tear people apart.
We had another dispute again. My mom has done away with the lecturing. I do not have the option of sitting there with my mouth shut while she runs her mouth off about the dirty dishes in the sink and the overflowing trash can. She wants me to fight back. So the banter begins.
The dispute had heated up. Almost every delegate to the so-called Peace Summit was on his or her feet, screaming at someone else who they disagreed with. I sat in the corner, shaking my head bemusedly. This was ridiculous. Clearly, achieving peace on Earth was a futile pursuit.
I have nothing to fear. They all left my sights and my stress was building. When they left the floor I cried. They flew to the heights that we never could and there they stayed in all their grand and pure mystery. I laughed as only I could.
dispute means family it means the ability to pass through what bothers us and understand that it was nothing more than a word seperating us. dispute is less negative and more positive as a mere “dispute” shouldn’t end relationships.
I won’t argue that you have the right to disagree with me. I will however argue that you may actually be mentally incompentent and therefor, wrong.
solve it. make it. longing to scream and yell, wanting to you see the point I’m trying to make. but you sit there unashamed of everything you’ve done. Your arrogant smirk driving blood to my eyes.
Disregard the disputes, seize the moment, focus on the ride, go for the win.
fight, disagreement, difference of opinion, I don’t dispute your answer, but I don’t agree with it either!
the dispute was settled by a duel.
ummm family, friends. terrible. ends relationships. breaks bonds. kills everything good. can be over a piece of clothing or a person or a house or a life. nothing is safe.
The Dispute Resolution Foundation hosted its 15th anniversary celebration at the Courtleigh Auditorium.
Fighting. Argument Disagreement. Anti-whatever.
Just saying NO.
My head hits the table with a hollow sound, bouncing over the net from paddle to paddle.
They argued for ages, but nothing came of it. Slowly they tired and young men became old men. Babies were born and people died. But the dispute didn’t die. They passed it on to their children. And their children passed it to their children. A never ending cycle.
The dispute was settle in court before the black robed judge sitting attentive and interested.
argument or discrepancy. Or maybe a difference of opinion worth arguing about i suppose.
Argument fight. I had one last night. It was one-sided but it hurt all involved. Maybe dispute isn’t the right word for what we had, but I can’t seem to get it off my mind, so it seems only appropriate that this was the word today.
talking things out
dont think just talk listen dont be cruel just be willing to comprmise
two or more people talking about a specific issue and trying to have a debate about a problem
Disputes are classy arguments. Lawyers get into disputes and old people who don’t want to say their fighting also dispute. It makes me think of the days when things were civilized. Why can’t we go back to those times, when people had disputes and things weren’t solved by swearing at each other or resorting to violence?
Dispute. Happens every day. My mother just went into the shower perfectly happy, only to come out aggrivated. (I refrain from calling her a little bitch in hopes of being a bit more respectful.)Anyway, she yells. I whistle. Just to piss her off.
I do not dispute that I saw that. I dispute the dispute. Frankly, disputing anything is stupid. Just decide on what you want to say. Disputing is a waste of time. Let’s not distpute for the sake of arguing, cause I don’t like to piss off people. I don’t like confrontation. So let’s not go there.
i disagree with you, with the air you breathe, the ground you stand on, the electrons circling weightlessly or speedlessly all around every nucleus in your body. I object, I abjure, I am disinclined to go along with your thinking, you have it wrong, you don’t get it, you have missed the point, the point has impaled you, you are puted way off into the dis-tance.
The dispute never ended. I stood there, or rather sat, looking up at the everlasting putdowns. I could ask myself the extremely unoriginal question that everyone with parents going through divorce have. Why can’t they just get along? But *I* new the answer to that.
there was a dispute in my family and no one could stop it. my life was full of horrors and everyone around me pitied me. Everything about it was so stupid. Sure, my parents fought no one ever believe a word I said. Things weren’t as bad as they seemed though.
it is something that doesn’t make sense but who am i to dispute it? would the lie go away just because i protest it’s validity? they made up their minds and used a lie to move along their decision. do i waste my energy on them by disputing this? no
I don’t want to bother with this anymore, she thought. But I don’t know how to stop him. Almost unconsciously, her fingers caressed the latest marks of his love, or so he said. Whenever Sheila thought about this, her eyes fell on the knives in the closet. Of course, Bobby only used them for cleaning the results of his hunting expeditions, but what if?
And then there were the guns, but they were always unloaded, she made sure of that. A heated argument that threatened his security in her could – but no, she refused to let herself think of what could happen. Her mind fixated instead on the very presence of the knives, that became like the eery music in horror films played just before the scream. She never let the guns so much as cross her mind.
Just one more day, she told herself. After all, it’s Friday and we’ll go out tonight and everything will be fine.
If I don’t do something tonight, then when will I do it? Tonight’s as good a night as any. After all, if not tonight, will it be any night?
Sheila grabbed a sheet of paper to organize her thoughts. She had about three hours before he’d come home, and she needed every second to get herself ready for this.
“Dear Bobby,” she started, and then she let everything onto the paper. Ten minutes later, she crossed something out and started over. Finally, an hour later, she set her pen down and pondered the note. She treated paper and pen like a confessional, always listening and never critical. Sheila shuddered imagining saying any of those things out loud, regardless of their truth. A brief image of the closet popped back into her head and she had an idea she knew she could live through.
What? Live with, I meant live with, she thought. Okay, this HAS to get done today. And with that, she folded the note and put it in the front pocket of her washed out jeans. She rummaged in the closet and grabbed the knives, all of them. Then, she ripped open drawers full of Bobby’s clothes and wrapped the knives in piles of them – slipped in a sock, rolled in a pant leg, and soon the entirety of Bobby’s wardrobe lay on the bed.
Only ten minutes until he came home. Sheila panicked. She took the pile to the disgusting green dumpster across the street, knowing he’d never bother to fish them out of there.
She still wasn’t sure if she could go through with the confrontation, and so she decided to give herself a little extra time. It was inevitable now, since he had not a single change of clothes left in her trailer, and none anywhere else. She hopped into her scraped up black Pontiac and drove in the opposite direction of the office where he worked. The last thing she wanted to do was pass him coming home. Dust rose up in wake of her, encouaged by the summer heat. A thunderstorm was brewing, goaded on by the heat.
She pulled off the road after two or three miles to find, behind some oddly lush greenery, an isolated duck pond. Sheila often came here when she needed to think. It was here that, as a teenager, she had sought a hiding place after her father died.
She breathed heavily, as though she’d run a marathon, and tried desperately not to cry. There was no way she could let him see her tears. Trying to calm herself down, she remembered the note. Breathing deeper, she skimmed over the opening lines. The more she read it, the more she realized it said everything she could absolutely never say to his darling face, and yet most definitively needed saying. Maybe I can still beat him back home, she thought, jumping in the car again.
When she pulled up to the trailer, however, his car was already parked there, and Leia was on her run in the back. As nonchalantly as she could, Sheila walked in to see what she would find.
A head of brown hair, slumped on the kitchen table, supported only by arms. Still in his work clothes, the poor baby. The words stuck in her throat, so she pushed them out of the way.
He raised his head to look at her, and in his eyes she could read the question which was burning into his very being. Why?
When she was fairly sure she could speak, Sheila found the courage to say, “Why are you here?”
After all, why would Bobby still be there? He had no reason, really. If Sheila had more guts, she would have kicked him out, but she still wasn’t about to let this problem go back below the surface. It was too late for any kind of resolution; she wanted him out.
Bobby didn’t move. He was probably in too much shock. Sheila forced herself to shoo away the sympathy in her heart and pull him out of the chair. She had to get him out of there before his shock turned into anger.
He didn’t resist, but let her push him out of the door. She fumbled to get the screen door opened from behind him. His dress pants were loose enough that he didn’t notice her slip the note into his back pocket.
The storm clouds that had been brewing that day had unleashed downpours accompanied by heat-induced lightning, and he had no choice but to get in his car and drive away. His lights came on and he sat in the driveway for a moment, hesitant. It made her wonder where he’d go. He was wondering the same thing, it appeared. She turned away from the door. Her own direction was perhaps just as unclear.
Sorry I was so long on you guys, this one just said something to me!!
The flowers were all colours of the rainbow. Lucy wasn’t sure if it was worth the argument or not. A mother-in-law can be an ugly thing to dispute with. She valued Brandon’s peace of mind more, and chose to go with the florist mother’s decision.
the people of the world are in a constant dispute, and many do not understand it any more than an outsider, how sad.
the people of the world are in a constant dispute, and many do not understand it any more than an outsider, how sad.
This was the final dispute. There was no turning back, once the words had been spoken. She’d been sick of these disputes, sick of the arguments, the never ending fights. But this was her chance. Her chance to get everything she had been keeping from them, out in the open. Even if it caused a fight, she was ready. She would not turn back, could not turn back. She was a fighter.
quarreling like birds over the last worm of the day. corruplent wives snatching the last cuts of meat from each other’s hands. the children kicking the ball from underneath the other children.
a place that isn’t quite like home, the snuggle of another cold surface. those blank pages are a shiver up my spine. yell it out till the lungs burst. there is only persuasion.
We didn’t know which way was best, but neither of us wanted to change our minds. I said what I wanted, but you didn’t see my point. I guess I’ll have to live with it for now.
all these relationships ebb and flow on a cantankerous ocean that hopes to drown them all to nowhere. we are all fighting all the time, sometimes for something most of the time for nothing. i hate the fool with a cause.
I can’t remember what the last dispute I had was. With my mom? Brother? Boyfriend? Yeah, it was probably the boyfriend. He’s always in the mood for a good argument.. Or should I use the word “dispute!”
they solved the dispute this way. he tied the firecracker to the donkey’s tale. then he kicked the animal to start it ambling slowly across the field, dragging the homemade explosive behind it. when after 30 seconds or so Mulligan’s firework finally blew, the donkey, clearly terrified out of it’s wits bolted far faster than they had ever seen it move before. “you see” said Mulligan “donkey’s can move fast if they have to”
the fight was immaculate. the perfect dispute. an argument with so much logic, it could never be doubted. right?
wrong. disputes are never perfect. they jab. they hurt. they tear people apart.
an argument
a place in time
where she is there and I watch too far away to touch
and he spins and spins and spins
and I just fall away.
a meeting of sorts
a catastrophe
We had another dispute again. My mom has done away with the lecturing. I do not have the option of sitting there with my mouth shut while she runs her mouth off about the dirty dishes in the sink and the overflowing trash can. She wants me to fight back. So the banter begins.
The dispute had heated up. Almost every delegate to the so-called Peace Summit was on his or her feet, screaming at someone else who they disagreed with. I sat in the corner, shaking my head bemusedly. This was ridiculous. Clearly, achieving peace on Earth was a futile pursuit.
I am a dispute phobic. I’m allergic to conflict, and I don’t ever want to hurt anyone.
Which is why I think I’m secretly draw closer and closer, infatuated with the idea of something I also revile.
It’s poetry; the universe is a twisted poet, and this is one of his lighter ditties.
I wish you would understand how tedious fighting with you is. It makes me want to kill a baby.
I am always having disputes with people over the smallest things. I’m a stickler for details
I have nothing to fear. They all left my sights and my stress was building. When they left the floor I cried. They flew to the heights that we never could and there they stayed in all their grand and pure mystery. I laughed as only I could.
dispute means family it means the ability to pass through what bothers us and understand that it was nothing more than a word seperating us. dispute is less negative and more positive as a mere “dispute” shouldn’t end relationships.