his handsome features scrunched into a grimace of dislike. “lets go” she half whispered loudly as she pushed him aside and grabbed her bra and panties.
A feature is a prominent characteristic of something. For example, the new blackberry 10 has some great new features, and some might they are better than the iphones’ features.
it was the seventeenth one down. Where she was supposed to go from pressing it…what she would have to do once that one impossible feature was unlocked on her phone she didn’t know. In the advertisment it said she could see the dead.
His features were chiseled and hard from many years of pain and suffering. His eyes bored into mine with a sadness that sliced my soul and pierced my heart. There was compassion in them, sympathy because he knew where I had come from. He knew my pain, he had experienced in the cell adjacent to mine.
Features are distinct entities which we perceive through our immediate senses. They are distinctions that the subject of interest possesses and thus often acquire direct relations to that subject. We understand features imperfectly, our senses are limited and thus so are our understanding of features.
There are so many types of features that are important about a person. Sure, there are physical features, such as their height and eye color, but features like ideas and opinions are also important to making up a person. People should not take so much time judging people by how they look and try to look more on the inside of people to see what they are really like.
There’s nothing a young starlet loathes more than a buzzing phone disturbing her sleep. She can hardly be expected to hit her marks or punctuate her lines with blurred vision and bags under her eyes. She was cranky and she told her Agent so. Who cares if she misses an audition for some crappy sit com on the WB starring the geek from Saved By The Bell? She’s meant for features and he should know that. Has he seen her cheekbones?!?
The way his face is made seems wrong. Not totally, not noticeably, but just enough…just enough so you can see. The slant of the jaw. The tilt of an eye, and you can tell. He’s not quiet human. His body doesn’t move right, and his words always seemed stilted, to loud or to soft. Wrong. The wrong face in the wrong body, on the wrong planet, or with the wrong food. Alien, or vampire, or angel or God. Whatever, whoever he may be…You can tell. You can see. He’s just, not quiet human
It was covered in bumps. Ragged, ornery. Mean, nasty, angry, and wrong. These were the characteristics of the dragons, the features of its race. They were the villains in the stories, the evil cackling things in league with witches, but never, ever the princesses. No one would believe it, but Pril stole the girl because he was lonely. Honestly, how long could you last. No, really-think about it. For just a moment. Think about the world hating you just because of what your race does, hating you on principal, on sight because your aunt and grandpa, mother and sister were all vicious and so they assumed you would be too. Just imagine. And those were the terrible emotions that drove Pril to steal the Princess. To steal the girl, still sitting docile and still in his claws. It had been quiet easy to grab her. Dragons have no trouble with that bit. They simply fly to the window of the Princesses room and begin to sing. Dragons have mesmerizing voices, and they hypnotize Princesses into packages quiet easy to handle. It is picking the Princess that is the hard bit, and Pril was beginning to think he had chosen wrong.
It’s hard to say what I like about him or her when I don’t really know the total person. Until I meet someone, I will not know what their best features are.
That fancy, fearless face will not be forgotten.
Every eye that ever eases into staring at her will not lose the evil edges of her jaw;
Her eyes are bright, but belittling,
Her lips like to lie luxuriously; they are lost and lead lovers astray
Her mind might make her dreams come true,
or morph them into a malevolent massacre agains her will.
Her hands hold the helpless hastily but her heart has lost its hope.
Her body is not her own.
Features of a face, with nothing but a dim flame luminating the highlights and shadows. The light caressing her gentle bones, creating nothing but a fine image of beauty. Raw beauty.
A bag full of features they said, looking at a weird satchel. From the inside, yells of the thousand souls could be heard. For the moment, it was not yet known for Nimrod whether the souls were crying in agony, or shouting in pleasure. But he was soon to discover the truth behind the features he could take for himself.
The feature event isn’t the only event going on at the feature. Look around, see the show that unfolds around the feature. There’s the real feature. The personalities and reactions and costumes of everyone at the Monster Truck Show.
There’s a lot of different things with a lot of different features.
…
Okay, this entry is going to come out a bit uninspired.
Feature… presentation? The features of a person! I wish I thought of that first and worked off it but now I’ve just got this random rambling and time is ticking away. A better entry for next time!
Her face. How could something so.. sad be so so incredibly beautiful? Her nose, her eyes, her mouth, her cheekbones. not perfectly symmetrical, but breathtaking nonetheless
I don’t like the plains of her features. They’re too well. Just there. They sit on the surface and i am not sure what to do with it. People say it is perfect, but I wonder if I am looking at the wrong person instead. So I stare and wonder why people think she is so beautiful.
The features of a face can tell so much about a person. So much history is written in a face, engraved in the features. Wrinkled features are like crevasses that hold so much emotion. Eyes are like a
Mine are balanced – though my left side of my face is more feminine than my right. It’s strange, how features really make us unique – our freckles, the shape of our eyes, the way our smiles turn up at the corners. Our uniqueness in our features makes us all infinitely beautiful.
Most people do not like their features. This is ridiculous. This is unthinkable. It is like looking at something tempered in the heat of the sun for almost fourteen billion years, existing despite the innumerable odds against it and saying- no. Nose too crooked. Limbs too gangly. Bullshit. We’re all great.
‘you were aimed from birth’,
william stafford.
and you were, and so was i, and those tigers out in the savannah, hot and hungry and leaning over their kill like a submission to their greed for life (although i am greedy too, and moreso)
but only one of us is grateful, and it is the tiger
and i wish i could be the kill, proud and in happiness that my life now serves more than my-self, but the truth is, if i should ever meet such an honest beast, it will be from the other side of an iron cage, there will be children, there will be teachers speaking loud words, and she will hold me in contempt (knowing, maybe from my mannerisms or glaring curiosity, that i am weak, and she is strong, and I am the one who could not survive out in the high degrees of a strange grassland where I must balance someone else’s blood with my own, and my children)
Late night conversations, Bon Iver on repeat
We talk about our dreams, and the fears we will defeat.
We imagine our futures: a good job and a lover
Knowing that our stories will never feature each other.
‘you were aimed from birth’,
william stafford.
and you were, and so was i, and those tigers out in the savannah, hot and hungry and leaning over their kill like a submission to their greed for life (although i am greedy too, and moreso)
but only one of us is grateful, and it is the tiger
and i wish i could be the kill, proud and in happiness that my life now serves more than my-self, but the truth is, if i should ever meet such an honest beast, it will be from the other side of an iron cage, there will be children, there will be teachers speaking loud words, and she will hold me in contempt (knowing, maybe from my mannerisms or glaring curiosity, that i am weak, and she is strong, and I am the one who could not survive out in high degrees of a strange grassland where I must balance someone else’s blood with my own, and my children)
His features are carved in stone. Mine are made of play-doh.
Why would he be interested in me?
When he smiles, it’s a little bit difficult to breathe. I always thought that was founded in hyperbole and myth.
I have been so guarded these past few years. I got my heart broken by my best friend of half my life. And I thought I’d never get past it. And then he shows up.
It still hurts, but not nearly as bad as it used to. And I smile at the thought of him.
Lips, tongue, mouth
Fall against my own
In a furious tug of war
Eyes, hair, skin –
Soft – and I can feel you talking
Through your fingertips
And the vibration of your body
Against mine.
Trailing sparks over your arms,
You shiver and gasp
In a goodbye,
In a surrender I’ll never forget.
He was dark. The kind of dark you don’t want to be around. He was tall and scary. I saw him looking at me with those eyes. Dark, scary eyes. I wanted him. But I also wanted him to leave me alone. This cant be happening.
She was tall. She had blond hair and blue eyes. She was smart and kind and did her part in the community. She was perfect. And I wanted to be her. I’ve never felt so ashamed of myself than I was in that moment. I wanted to throw myself away to be HER.
His features were dark. Scary. I didn’t know where to turn. I felt the room closing in on me and I couldn’t breath anymore. He had me. He had me and he wasn’t touching me. I couldn’t think. I just ran. Past him. Past myself. I was in another world.
When dad left the world tilted and I watched all of the people in my life fall over the edge of the world. Mother drowned below in a sea of Goose. Vita crawled into the cavernous mouth of lust and Danny–well Danny simply clung to the features of earth’s face, clawing and grasping until he’d managed to find a foothold and it was me.
The features on her face rearranged themselves into something bitter and wintry. Suddenly her blond lashes were snowflakes frozen onto her white eyelids and her lips were bitten-red and pinched with expression.
there are sixteen things that i love about you
the way your hair falls into your eyes
the way you lick your lips until they crack and bleed
fingers finding mine in the dark
the jut of your hipbones pressing into my side
the quiet of your eyes on mine
too many things to illustrate with words
his handsome features scrunched into a grimace of dislike. “lets go” she half whispered loudly as she pushed him aside and grabbed her bra and panties.
A feature is a prominent characteristic of something. For example, the new blackberry 10 has some great new features, and some might they are better than the iphones’ features.
it was the seventeenth one down. Where she was supposed to go from pressing it…what she would have to do once that one impossible feature was unlocked on her phone she didn’t know. In the advertisment it said she could see the dead.
His features were chiseled and hard from many years of pain and suffering. His eyes bored into mine with a sadness that sliced my soul and pierced my heart. There was compassion in them, sympathy because he knew where I had come from. He knew my pain, he had experienced in the cell adjacent to mine.
Features are distinct entities which we perceive through our immediate senses. They are distinctions that the subject of interest possesses and thus often acquire direct relations to that subject. We understand features imperfectly, our senses are limited and thus so are our understanding of features.
There are so many types of features that are important about a person. Sure, there are physical features, such as their height and eye color, but features like ideas and opinions are also important to making up a person. People should not take so much time judging people by how they look and try to look more on the inside of people to see what they are really like.
There’s nothing a young starlet loathes more than a buzzing phone disturbing her sleep. She can hardly be expected to hit her marks or punctuate her lines with blurred vision and bags under her eyes. She was cranky and she told her Agent so. Who cares if she misses an audition for some crappy sit com on the WB starring the geek from Saved By The Bell? She’s meant for features and he should know that. Has he seen her cheekbones?!?
The way his face is made seems wrong. Not totally, not noticeably, but just enough…just enough so you can see. The slant of the jaw. The tilt of an eye, and you can tell. He’s not quiet human. His body doesn’t move right, and his words always seemed stilted, to loud or to soft. Wrong. The wrong face in the wrong body, on the wrong planet, or with the wrong food. Alien, or vampire, or angel or God. Whatever, whoever he may be…You can tell. You can see. He’s just, not quiet human
It was covered in bumps. Ragged, ornery. Mean, nasty, angry, and wrong. These were the characteristics of the dragons, the features of its race. They were the villains in the stories, the evil cackling things in league with witches, but never, ever the princesses. No one would believe it, but Pril stole the girl because he was lonely. Honestly, how long could you last. No, really-think about it. For just a moment. Think about the world hating you just because of what your race does, hating you on principal, on sight because your aunt and grandpa, mother and sister were all vicious and so they assumed you would be too. Just imagine. And those were the terrible emotions that drove Pril to steal the Princess. To steal the girl, still sitting docile and still in his claws. It had been quiet easy to grab her. Dragons have no trouble with that bit. They simply fly to the window of the Princesses room and begin to sing. Dragons have mesmerizing voices, and they hypnotize Princesses into packages quiet easy to handle. It is picking the Princess that is the hard bit, and Pril was beginning to think he had chosen wrong.
As are my own features
there are may creatures
some differ some not.
Features are landmarks on the face of reality that help us hold on to our fragmented existence in our borrowed time in this universe.
It’s hard to say what I like about him or her when I don’t really know the total person. Until I meet someone, I will not know what their best features are.
Violet eyes. She has violet eyes that simmer with hatred.
Does this author have any idea how ridiculous and crazy those features sound?
Violet eyes don’t exist. She can have blue eyes, brown eyes, or even green eyes.
But I draw the line at purple.
The world has many features. In faces, landmarks, and personalities. Nothing is the same, everything is beautiful.
That fancy, fearless face will not be forgotten.
Every eye that ever eases into staring at her will not lose the evil edges of her jaw;
Her eyes are bright, but belittling,
Her lips like to lie luxuriously; they are lost and lead lovers astray
Her mind might make her dreams come true,
or morph them into a malevolent massacre agains her will.
Her hands hold the helpless hastily but her heart has lost its hope.
Her body is not her own.
Features of a face, with nothing but a dim flame luminating the highlights and shadows. The light caressing her gentle bones, creating nothing but a fine image of beauty. Raw beauty.
The features of your face are the most drastically perfect ones I’ve ever seen.
The features of my face are plain and nondescript,
Like your attitude towards me.
A bag full of features they said, looking at a weird satchel. From the inside, yells of the thousand souls could be heard. For the moment, it was not yet known for Nimrod whether the souls were crying in agony, or shouting in pleasure. But he was soon to discover the truth behind the features he could take for himself.
The feature event isn’t the only event going on at the feature. Look around, see the show that unfolds around the feature. There’s the real feature. The personalities and reactions and costumes of everyone at the Monster Truck Show.
There’s a lot of different things with a lot of different features.
…
Okay, this entry is going to come out a bit uninspired.
Feature… presentation? The features of a person! I wish I thought of that first and worked off it but now I’ve just got this random rambling and time is ticking away. A better entry for next time!
Her face. How could something so.. sad be so so incredibly beautiful? Her nose, her eyes, her mouth, her cheekbones. not perfectly symmetrical, but breathtaking nonetheless
I don’t like the plains of her features. They’re too well. Just there. They sit on the surface and i am not sure what to do with it. People say it is perfect, but I wonder if I am looking at the wrong person instead. So I stare and wonder why people think she is so beautiful.
The features of a face can tell so much about a person. So much history is written in a face, engraved in the features. Wrinkled features are like crevasses that hold so much emotion. Eyes are like a
Mine are balanced – though my left side of my face is more feminine than my right. It’s strange, how features really make us unique – our freckles, the shape of our eyes, the way our smiles turn up at the corners. Our uniqueness in our features makes us all infinitely beautiful.
Most people do not like their features. This is ridiculous. This is unthinkable. It is like looking at something tempered in the heat of the sun for almost fourteen billion years, existing despite the innumerable odds against it and saying- no. Nose too crooked. Limbs too gangly. Bullshit. We’re all great.
those marvelous features
my head’s spinnin’
full of creepy crawly creatures
she’s always winnin’
‘you were aimed from birth’,
william stafford.
and you were, and so was i, and those tigers out in the savannah, hot and hungry and leaning over their kill like a submission to their greed for life (although i am greedy too, and moreso)
but only one of us is grateful, and it is the tiger
and i wish i could be the kill, proud and in happiness that my life now serves more than my-self, but the truth is, if i should ever meet such an honest beast, it will be from the other side of an iron cage, there will be children, there will be teachers speaking loud words, and she will hold me in contempt (knowing, maybe from my mannerisms or glaring curiosity, that i am weak, and she is strong, and I am the one who could not survive out in the high degrees of a strange grassland where I must balance someone else’s blood with my own, and my children)
Late night conversations, Bon Iver on repeat
We talk about our dreams, and the fears we will defeat.
We imagine our futures: a good job and a lover
Knowing that our stories will never feature each other.
‘you were aimed from birth’,
william stafford.
and you were, and so was i, and those tigers out in the savannah, hot and hungry and leaning over their kill like a submission to their greed for life (although i am greedy too, and moreso)
but only one of us is grateful, and it is the tiger
and i wish i could be the kill, proud and in happiness that my life now serves more than my-self, but the truth is, if i should ever meet such an honest beast, it will be from the other side of an iron cage, there will be children, there will be teachers speaking loud words, and she will hold me in contempt (knowing, maybe from my mannerisms or glaring curiosity, that i am weak, and she is strong, and I am the one who could not survive out in high degrees of a strange grassland where I must balance someone else’s blood with my own, and my children)
His are perfect. They are rustic. Classic. Kind. I can gaze on his features all day, but he does not see the beauty in them. The man that I love.
His features are carved in stone. Mine are made of play-doh.
Why would he be interested in me?
When he smiles, it’s a little bit difficult to breathe. I always thought that was founded in hyperbole and myth.
I have been so guarded these past few years. I got my heart broken by my best friend of half my life. And I thought I’d never get past it. And then he shows up.
It still hurts, but not nearly as bad as it used to. And I smile at the thought of him.
I like him. How terrifying.
Lips, tongue, mouth
Fall against my own
In a furious tug of war
Eyes, hair, skin –
Soft – and I can feel you talking
Through your fingertips
And the vibration of your body
Against mine.
Trailing sparks over your arms,
You shiver and gasp
In a goodbye,
In a surrender I’ll never forget.
this word causes me to think about different aspects of a given picture, topic or thought. Depicting different levels of visual travel.
He was dark. The kind of dark you don’t want to be around. He was tall and scary. I saw him looking at me with those eyes. Dark, scary eyes. I wanted him. But I also wanted him to leave me alone. This cant be happening.
She was tall. She had blond hair and blue eyes. She was smart and kind and did her part in the community. She was perfect. And I wanted to be her. I’ve never felt so ashamed of myself than I was in that moment. I wanted to throw myself away to be HER.
His features were dark. Scary. I didn’t know where to turn. I felt the room closing in on me and I couldn’t breath anymore. He had me. He had me and he wasn’t touching me. I couldn’t think. I just ran. Past him. Past myself. I was in another world.
When dad left the world tilted and I watched all of the people in my life fall over the edge of the world. Mother drowned below in a sea of Goose. Vita crawled into the cavernous mouth of lust and Danny–well Danny simply clung to the features of earth’s face, clawing and grasping until he’d managed to find a foothold and it was me.
“This new phone has so many features. It’s crazy!!!” screamed Deandre. “Ok but can you give it back to me. It is my phone…” pleaded Justin.
The features on her face rearranged themselves into something bitter and wintry. Suddenly her blond lashes were snowflakes frozen onto her white eyelids and her lips were bitten-red and pinched with expression.
there are sixteen things that i love about you
the way your hair falls into your eyes
the way you lick your lips until they crack and bleed
fingers finding mine in the dark
the jut of your hipbones pressing into my side
the quiet of your eyes on mine
too many things to illustrate with words