Two rugby players race for the ball. One is hit in the tummy, the other, the shin. A lot of cheering is going on. A pile of bodies near the goal post. The referee jumps on top and the crowd howls with laughter.
He hit her across the face. Just because Chris was giving her the “eye”. She packed her tiny brown suitcase and escaped into the wet night just as he shuffled from the bathroom shouting, “Sorry love I did not mean to hit you. Let’s make up”, but it was already too late. Cleo had already flagged a taxi to the airport.
Hit the cricket ball. Give it a good crack. Wow! It is sailing across the roof top. Dennis is going to get all the way round. “Out”! Dennis lands on his face as the ball hits his shoulder, “Ouch”!
Elvis was a massive hit in the fifties and sixties. He was an all-American Deep South boy. He could really shake his hips. The Duke Box never stopped playing his songs. Music was Rock and Roll and all the dance floors used to sway to the Elvis magic.
Yanks use the word “hit” to indicate when they fancy somebody. We use the word “crush”. Funny little words but they equal courtship. I like to watch pigeons cooing. The male chases the girl pigeon and his wings turn purple. (This is a correction to the first piece).
Yanks use the word “hit” to indicate when they fancy somebody. We use the word “crush”. Funny little words but they are equal courtship. I like to watch pigeons cooing. The male chases the girl pigeon and his wings turn purple.
JFK was hit. The sadness of his passing. It happened in a flash. I was just over 3, living in the UK, but his assassination was splashed across all the major newspapers and even now people are still saying, where were you on 22 December 1963?
The ball cracked against the bat, flying out of bounds and into the stands where hungry fans leapt into a pile greedily. Not far away, I sat with my peanuts, shaking my head at their stupidity.
The fist contacted with his cheek. He wasn’t sure if he was standing still, but that was proved false when he found himself staring at the tile. He blinked several times before looking up at the bright lights. This was obviously a Monday.
Mother always told me to be good. She’d leave the house for days, leaving me just the one instruction: “Be good”. Once, I broke a vase, and realised I had to punish myself. The hits were hard but deserved, I thought. I was determined to be good. To make mother proud.
when i hit it usually goes far
the ball that is, not my car
i want a hit before i die
a movie that is, not a lie
when you stop hitting let me do
i will not hit him, i’ll hit you
a strange apparition. i see a face approaching. the darkness consumes me. quickly fading, never creating. i am a man of questionable morals. take the time to see that all we are is all we are and shall never be. see me for who i am.
Hit it out of the park. When I was little, my mom always made me come along to my twin brother’s baseball games. I didn’t really have anything to do there, so I’d hide under the bleachers with my friends (who also had brothers playing) and ate candy from the concessions stand. One time, at a game my dad came to for once, he put me ontop of one of the dugouts so I could see better. No one ever hit a home run to my knowledge. Just goes to show how little league typically works.
I was walking through the street. It was dusk and the street lights were just beginning to turn on. It was one of those hazy summer nights. No cars were passing by, no sound was being made. I stepped off the side walk and into the street. For a moment, I was alone in this usually crowded place.
Ouch. Ooh. Fists, violence. Weed, give me some of that. Hit me. I want another. Addiction. It’ll never stop. How about that one? Give me another. I feel so good. Wow. Hit. Hit. Hit. Stop.
Hit. I thought you already hit the ball but it’s still in the air and you are experiencing the moment before. It’s in the air and you are experiencing the thickness of air. You are experiencing the delicacy of time. You are extraordinary in that you can see slowness, that you can hear it, feel it, live life slower than other people. Why do people say slow is bad? How can a person exist without slow?
sometimes i hit people when i’m really, really mad at them. like my boyfriend for example. i never hit him so hard as to hurt him, he just sometimes doesn’t get that he’s being an ass and it isn’t funny. i just punch the side of his arm until he tells he to stop. i used to hit boys when they made fun of me when i was drinking. playfully, of course, but i pack a pretty strong punch for a girl. i know it hurts, i think i like the fact that i know i’m strong. besides that, i don’t hit anything else, especially baseballs, because i am not meant for sports that require skill like that. i used to row.
She hit the pillow, trying to stop crying, the frustration was just more than she could take. How could he not know how important this was to her? It was all she’d talked about for weeks, and now he nonchalantly announces he won’t be able to make it, and why? just because he wants to hang out with the guys. And he just assumes she’ll be okay with it, doesn’t even ask if it’s all right or anything.
He hit me. There was nothing more to it. He taught me that bruises could be beautiful. He taught me that love meant making sacrifices. I found it odd that both my man and my God found me most beautiful on my knees.
She never knew how words could hurt, how they could scar a person’s heart and make them cry and die all at once. She never knew until he showed her, sharpening his words to perfection and flinging them with perfect aim at her heart, hitting the flesh and bruising the skin.
She never knew that, inside, the words were killing him too.
For both of them, the words hit hard. Almost too hard. Hard enough to leave scars.
I went to him for a hit sometimes when I was feeling like shit. I don’t know why I kept going back. It felt good for awhile, but afterwards I felt even.. shitter. But I guess it was addiction. I wish I had never met him.
when you came to the room
… i couldn’t look at you
I knew you had black eyes
but i didn’t have to look at them
i couldn’t hide
i’ve tried before, and no matter how big the room
or the earth
you always find me
hit and run. i did that once. well it wasnt a hit and run. i hit a pedestrian. got out and helped her up. complete accident but horrible nonetheless. she wanted to meet me on the other side of the street. i had to drive a ways before a u turn was legal, and when i got back she was gone. other cars called me in as a hit and run, it took quite a bit of police talking to convince them of the truth
I want to hit people in the face because they don’t know what be quiet means ever so i just like to hit them in the face, mhahahaha i am so evil because I like to hit people in the face. especially that bitch melissa she needs to be hit in the face and she wears too much makeup she’s a whore kick her in the face her stupid boyfriend doesn’t even love her, so you know what i hope she has 60000000 kids and that dies of cancers cause she’s not even pretty but she thinks she’s right all the time and that is why i hit her in the FACE.
hit is a fun thing to do, but not recommended. i would love to hit some people in my life. but maybe it would be better to just get them out of my life, htis could be hard since some of them may or may not be family members. i dont think i have ever hit someone before, i have definately hit objects like walls and such but noones face. hopefully there will be a day when i can ram by hand in someones face, but i doubt it.
HIT the go button, I want to move out of this weird house! Little bro I can’t even warm up my pizza in the oven because all the e-cracked out roomates with 9-5 professional jobs are coming down and being weird. I thought turning 30 meant things got more normal. Apparently not. This is weekend #5 in a row they’ve done this. Creepy new house.
Hit me. I wish she would have. Then everything would have been valid. It doesn’t matter when you go to school and tell everybody your mom says horrible things to you, but when you say she hits you, then they listen. Then, it matters. Then, they take her away. She never hit me, so I left instead.
She was that bad.
Two rugby players race for the ball. One is hit in the tummy, the other, the shin. A lot of cheering is going on. A pile of bodies near the goal post. The referee jumps on top and the crowd howls with laughter.
He hit her across the face. Just because Chris was giving her the “eye”. She packed her tiny brown suitcase and escaped into the wet night just as he shuffled from the bathroom shouting, “Sorry love I did not mean to hit you. Let’s make up”, but it was already too late. Cleo had already flagged a taxi to the airport.
Hit the cricket ball. Give it a good crack. Wow! It is sailing across the roof top. Dennis is going to get all the way round. “Out”! Dennis lands on his face as the ball hits his shoulder, “Ouch”!
Elvis was a massive hit in the fifties and sixties. He was an all-American Deep South boy. He could really shake his hips. The Duke Box never stopped playing his songs. Music was Rock and Roll and all the dance floors used to sway to the Elvis magic.
Yanks use the word “hit” to indicate when they fancy somebody. We use the word “crush”. Funny little words but they equal courtship. I like to watch pigeons cooing. The male chases the girl pigeon and his wings turn purple. (This is a correction to the first piece).
Yanks use the word “hit” to indicate when they fancy somebody. We use the word “crush”. Funny little words but they are equal courtship. I like to watch pigeons cooing. The male chases the girl pigeon and his wings turn purple.
JFK was hit. The sadness of his passing. It happened in a flash. I was just over 3, living in the UK, but his assassination was splashed across all the major newspapers and even now people are still saying, where were you on 22 December 1963?
colpire male hit hit
Schmerz, Lied, Verletzung, Erinnerung, Macht, Vertrauen,
The ball cracked against the bat, flying out of bounds and into the stands where hungry fans leapt into a pile greedily. Not far away, I sat with my peanuts, shaking my head at their stupidity.
Hit has so many meetings and so can be “completed” via so many means. Cars. People. Mafia. Songs. Charts. Fists.
violent action hurt mad mean wrong force
hit me hard
hit
The fist contacted with his cheek. He wasn’t sure if he was standing still, but that was proved false when he found himself staring at the tile. He blinked several times before looking up at the bright lights. This was obviously a Monday.
Mother always told me to be good. She’d leave the house for days, leaving me just the one instruction: “Be good”. Once, I broke a vase, and realised I had to punish myself. The hits were hard but deserved, I thought. I was determined to be good. To make mother proud.
when i hit it usually goes far
the ball that is, not my car
i want a hit before i die
a movie that is, not a lie
when you stop hitting let me do
i will not hit him, i’ll hit you
a strange apparition. i see a face approaching. the darkness consumes me. quickly fading, never creating. i am a man of questionable morals. take the time to see that all we are is all we are and shall never be. see me for who i am.
Hit it out of the park. When I was little, my mom always made me come along to my twin brother’s baseball games. I didn’t really have anything to do there, so I’d hide under the bleachers with my friends (who also had brothers playing) and ate candy from the concessions stand. One time, at a game my dad came to for once, he put me ontop of one of the dugouts so I could see better. No one ever hit a home run to my knowledge. Just goes to show how little league typically works.
I was walking through the street. It was dusk and the street lights were just beginning to turn on. It was one of those hazy summer nights. No cars were passing by, no sound was being made. I stepped off the side walk and into the street. For a moment, I was alone in this usually crowded place.
Ouch. Ooh. Fists, violence. Weed, give me some of that. Hit me. I want another. Addiction. It’ll never stop. How about that one? Give me another. I feel so good. Wow. Hit. Hit. Hit. Stop.
Hit. That’s what he does. All the time. It doesn’t matter the reason. What I wear, what I say, maybe just the way I moved. He’ll hit me.
And then, if I do it again, whatever it is, he’ll hit me one more time. Sometimes I don’t even do it. I stop and he keeps hitting. Just hit.
Hit. I thought you already hit the ball but it’s still in the air and you are experiencing the moment before. It’s in the air and you are experiencing the thickness of air. You are experiencing the delicacy of time. You are extraordinary in that you can see slowness, that you can hear it, feel it, live life slower than other people. Why do people say slow is bad? How can a person exist without slow?
sometimes i hit people when i’m really, really mad at them. like my boyfriend for example. i never hit him so hard as to hurt him, he just sometimes doesn’t get that he’s being an ass and it isn’t funny. i just punch the side of his arm until he tells he to stop. i used to hit boys when they made fun of me when i was drinking. playfully, of course, but i pack a pretty strong punch for a girl. i know it hurts, i think i like the fact that i know i’m strong. besides that, i don’t hit anything else, especially baseballs, because i am not meant for sports that require skill like that. i used to row.
She hit the pillow, trying to stop crying, the frustration was just more than she could take. How could he not know how important this was to her? It was all she’d talked about for weeks, and now he nonchalantly announces he won’t be able to make it, and why? just because he wants to hang out with the guys. And he just assumes she’ll be okay with it, doesn’t even ask if it’s all right or anything.
He hit me. There was nothing more to it. He taught me that bruises could be beautiful. He taught me that love meant making sacrifices. I found it odd that both my man and my God found me most beautiful on my knees.
She never knew how words could hurt, how they could scar a person’s heart and make them cry and die all at once. She never knew until he showed her, sharpening his words to perfection and flinging them with perfect aim at her heart, hitting the flesh and bruising the skin.
She never knew that, inside, the words were killing him too.
For both of them, the words hit hard. Almost too hard. Hard enough to leave scars.
I went to him for a hit sometimes when I was feeling like shit. I don’t know why I kept going back. It felt good for awhile, but afterwards I felt even.. shitter. But I guess it was addiction. I wish I had never met him.
hurt pain hate kick hard-love deserting fight cry tears laughter fear sad happy love kill death life
when you came to the room
… i couldn’t look at you
I knew you had black eyes
but i didn’t have to look at them
i couldn’t hide
i’ve tried before, and no matter how big the room
or the earth
you always find me
1hit = Homogeneous Incisive Transfusion
hit and run. i did that once. well it wasnt a hit and run. i hit a pedestrian. got out and helped her up. complete accident but horrible nonetheless. she wanted to meet me on the other side of the street. i had to drive a ways before a u turn was legal, and when i got back she was gone. other cars called me in as a hit and run, it took quite a bit of police talking to convince them of the truth
beat, knock, assert pressure with something else
I want to hit people in the face because they don’t know what be quiet means ever so i just like to hit them in the face, mhahahaha i am so evil because I like to hit people in the face. especially that bitch melissa she needs to be hit in the face and she wears too much makeup she’s a whore kick her in the face her stupid boyfriend doesn’t even love her, so you know what i hope she has 60000000 kids and that dies of cancers cause she’s not even pretty but she thinks she’s right all the time and that is why i hit her in the FACE.
hit is a fun thing to do, but not recommended. i would love to hit some people in my life. but maybe it would be better to just get them out of my life, htis could be hard since some of them may or may not be family members. i dont think i have ever hit someone before, i have definately hit objects like walls and such but noones face. hopefully there will be a day when i can ram by hand in someones face, but i doubt it.
He hit me.
That’s the text I get in the middle of the night while I’m sleeping in my dorm room and she’s a thousand miles away.
What do I do?!
What CAN I do from this far away?
So I pass her off. To someone else. Tell someone else. I can’t help.
HIT the go button, I want to move out of this weird house! Little bro I can’t even warm up my pizza in the oven because all the e-cracked out roomates with 9-5 professional jobs are coming down and being weird. I thought turning 30 meant things got more normal. Apparently not. This is weekend #5 in a row they’ve done this. Creepy new house.
Hit me. I wish she would have. Then everything would have been valid. It doesn’t matter when you go to school and tell everybody your mom says horrible things to you, but when you say she hits you, then they listen. Then, it matters. Then, they take her away. She never hit me, so I left instead.
She was that bad.
pain. baseball. i have a coldplay song playing in my head.
my boyfriend is annoying me.
Don’t take it out on me.. please. let it go. take a breath, show me some compassion, maybe a smile. put down that hand and give me a hug