You are imprisoned in a cell and u cant get out untill they let u out u eat nasty food and not good food u sleep on a not comftorable bed and barely any blamkets you get outside time for a little bit of time, you
i have that imprisoned feeling, that i can never share with anyone, not even him not even my bestie. But i think that he has a clue that it is lingering there. Sometimes it just makes me cry, but hush little heart and be still emotion. dont play with fire
“Let me out!” I screamed, banging against the walls, but my cries were useless. I fell down onto the cold, uneven wooden floor, trying to avoid any hidden splinters.
“Hey,” a voice said, in barely a whisper.
My head was buried in my dress; my hijab draped across the dusty floor. Hesitantly, I looked up.
“How?” was the girl’s simple question.
“They – my – well – they’re xenophobic.” I throw out the words and stare across the room at the girl; pale skin, blue eyes and soft blonde curls. She probably didn’t suffer the same problem.
Her eyes wandered over to my hijab. “Oh,” she said softly. “Me too; Jewish. No one’s paying attention to the Neo-Nazis.”
“Muslim,” I replied, reaching my hand over, “and the world’s ignoring us minorities. Your name?”
“Helena,” she said after a brief pause, firmly shaking my hand. “You?”
“Irmak.”
I remember
I can see the orange suits the orange jumpsuits like prison uniforms
I can see the black and white stripes- jail uniforms like in the black and white movies
Bars
vertical
vertical bars
sectioning off innocent or- not so innocent- faces
you know like a grid, each one a different size and shape
all longing for the same thing
but no body knows what that is yet
Lucas and Ben were in prison. They were there because someone had framed them. They knew it. Bridger knew it, even Admiral Noyce knew it. But the state of Florida claimed they had killed the president. And they would be held without bail until the UEO could clear them and prove their sea crab had been stolen.
I’ve never felt so imprisoned in my life and I am supposed to be happy. I am supposed to be in love but what did this come to but you controlling me with my weaknesses so that you don’t have to feel alone and unloved.
Routine is something that
enlightens, I think,
but there’s an element to spontaneity that
makes us free
and let’s our minds assume the neutral position,
something which is
grand and
well-deserved and
liberating
when they pulled him over in the airport, and discovered he was undocumented, they weren’t nearly as rough as he expected. they offered him water, they bought him a mcdonald’s hamburger, with his own money, and then put him in a van. he was behind bars from the driver but he could see out the window, the hills southeast of San Diego as they drove to the border with Mexico. he’d manage in Mexico, he knew that. go back to the old neighborhood, start dealing again, maybe be a little wiser in the risks he’d taken before. but they stopped short of the border. pulled him from the van, locked chains around his legs, dragged him into a large windowless building, down a hall, threw him in a tiny cell, locked the door, shut the peephole window. he heard them retreating, loud footsteps diminishing to inaudible. on the third day, no food, no water, pissing in the corner with no bucket, he knew they weren’t planning to come back for him. he was 23.
There they were; sitting in the witch’s dark wine cellar. Imprisoned. They had no place to go and no way out. They were deceived. They had left were the lights that came from their phones.
Being imprisoned is a cage, sometimes you feel imprisoned when you are not given easy access to life and its joys. Failure can lock you in a cage until you learn to unlock it using your confidence you gain.
The walls creak and are 5000ft high and i swear they move closer together everyday. The floor is quicksand and i cannot move. I’m stuck. I scream and no one hears. I scream loud. “FIRE!”, “RAPE!” “HELP!” no one answers. I’m stuck. Anxiety. The walls are really 80ft, they stay in place everyday, the floor is carpet and soft. I’m not screaming, no words are coming out, they cant. Anxiety. I’m imprisoned in my own head. I’m stuck.
The bars weren’t physical, but watching them walk down the alley, it felt as nothing in the world could set me free. I watched as the man with two many eyes and the girl with too many hands ambled down the streets. I wished more than anything I could join them.
The bars that held me weren’t physical, but as I strained against them, trying to catch one last glimpse into the reaper’s world, they might as well have been.
What caught his imagination was that the sky that looked ordinary to him yesterday, looks amazing and desirable once he is behind the bars. He had no intentions of getting caught but he needed to take one for the team to succeed.
The murderer was imprisioned for 20 years for his role in the 2000 murder of the young mom from Washington. His life was over as he knew it. He made the best of his time in jail. Learning a foreign language and finding religion.
Imprisoned in life, school, love. In a home, something that is characterised by safety and sanctuary, so many are imprisoned. In school, but people, stress. By pressures by society, peers, loved ones. That your self worth can be judged on a single piece of paper.
imprisomnmet can be justified or not, in america many are improsined wronglu0 achoo the world also, not just america. the death penalty and capital punishment is so so wrong it makes me so andgrt that we can take someone’s life away and people freaking celebrate it like yhwt id that bout liretallu that id so wrong too much power wveryth
This was wrong. She didn’t do anything. She wasn’t capable of doing anything they had accused her of and yet, here she was. Wrongfully imprisoned in the worst place in the world. With no way out.
been there done that and now that youre free youn dont even feel free
been here run fear fear runs us
the news isn’t real
they choose what to cover
i wonder why we choose
to be ignorant
because we are scared
of what it might be like
if we werent
Jack had been imprisoned in his cell for over a week now, the only source of daylight coming through a four inch slit in a crack on the wall. He couldn’t remember how or why he’d been arrested—probably because that night at the saloon he’d had way too much to drink—but now he wanted out and resorted to banging on the cell bars and screaming at the top of his lungs.
As he walked down the hallway he recognized it all. From the stories he thought we tall tales to photographs his grandfather showed him of the cells. He entered his cell and this would be his cell for the next seven months.
I am imprisoned by my thoughts. Do my friends really like me? Some don’t I think. I want to escape my bad thoughts. Fuck this is harder than I thought it would be. Escape.
She hit her head against the table and let it rest there. She inhaled sharply and let the air vibrate out of her lips in a sound of exasperation. Cindy ignored her completely, not even granting her an eye-roll of acknowledgment.
Locked in a cold, dark room, he curled into a ball to try and keep warm, in hopes that his body heat would soon radiate to the cement floor under him, and the cold steel bed frame behind him. If he could create his own space within the cell, control a portion of his life, even if it was smaller than his allotment, he could be free.
It was a nice house. Large bay windows, a spacious layout, and even a pool. She stared at the pool often. Even though he never locked the doors, taking a dive seemed like the only way out.
there is steel.
the hum of metal shut in shackles.
you’ve given up screaming long ago,
as you have given up the sun.
whispers here,
the rats in the distance leer
through ink.
I have to treasure every day. It might never be this perfect again.
But I have to go to work. I have to study. I have to read, I have to cook, I have to clean I have to clean my kitchen clean my desk clean my mind my mind clean my mind by cleaning my desk by reading a book by studying by turning off my music by turning off the screen on my phone by pressing the power button in my head if I’m calm it all goes numb if I’m crying it all goes numb if I’m busy how quickly I turn off and go numb and it made me think that darkness and sadness were better than staring at the wall or the computer or a paper waiting to think waiting to move wait, I can make myself move, but I don’t.
Or so I think. I am moving more than ever aren’t I. Still waiting for things I can’t control to fall into place. Am I moving the pieces I can enough? The busier the daily shuffle the longer the shorter breaks feel and the heavier they weigh. It’s really. Ok. I’m really. Ok. I’m real I’m ok I’m just never going to know what 100% feels like, with melodrama and angst veiled in introspection wrapped up tightly enough to leak out only in a dribble through fingers tap tap taping an aging keyboard while I say I’m ok but I’m not but actually I’m better than ever I would turn it off but then I would have nothing at all not a single thing and I want things. If I remember what want means. I want things.
How long has the queen been imprisoned? Seven years? Seventeen? Is there gray in her hair and wrinkles beneath her eyes, or is she still young and spry in a darkened cell? Has she been muted, or does she still sing? Her melodies and anthems are missed throughout the land. The king’s been dead for too long now – how much longer until we get our true ruler back? I’ve stopped counting the days; I simply press my body up against the window nearest to the tower, hoping to hear a crescendo of music.
hi, it’s cool! very much!
I’m happy for find this site!
bye
This word has a root word, prefix, and suffix. Imprisoned. Impris.
I think imprisoned means that im in prison
Its a place you gotta stay and eat nasty junk food and sleep on not compftorable beds you get outside time for a little bit of time
I saw a movie that a person got imprisoned in a little cell
You are imprisoned in a cell and u cant get out untill they let u out u eat nasty food and not good food u sleep on a not comftorable bed and barely any blamkets you get outside time for a little bit of time, you
i have that imprisoned feeling, that i can never share with anyone, not even him not even my bestie. But i think that he has a clue that it is lingering there. Sometimes it just makes me cry, but hush little heart and be still emotion. dont play with fire
“Let me out!” I screamed, banging against the walls, but my cries were useless. I fell down onto the cold, uneven wooden floor, trying to avoid any hidden splinters.
“Hey,” a voice said, in barely a whisper.
My head was buried in my dress; my hijab draped across the dusty floor. Hesitantly, I looked up.
“How?” was the girl’s simple question.
“They – my – well – they’re xenophobic.” I throw out the words and stare across the room at the girl; pale skin, blue eyes and soft blonde curls. She probably didn’t suffer the same problem.
Her eyes wandered over to my hijab. “Oh,” she said softly. “Me too; Jewish. No one’s paying attention to the Neo-Nazis.”
“Muslim,” I replied, reaching my hand over, “and the world’s ignoring us minorities. Your name?”
“Helena,” she said after a brief pause, firmly shaking my hand. “You?”
“Irmak.”
I remember
I can see the orange suits the orange jumpsuits like prison uniforms
I can see the black and white stripes- jail uniforms like in the black and white movies
Bars
vertical
vertical bars
sectioning off innocent or- not so innocent- faces
you know like a grid, each one a different size and shape
all longing for the same thing
but no body knows what that is yet
Lucas and Ben were in prison. They were there because someone had framed them. They knew it. Bridger knew it, even Admiral Noyce knew it. But the state of Florida claimed they had killed the president. And they would be held without bail until the UEO could clear them and prove their sea crab had been stolen.
I’ve never felt so imprisoned in my life and I am supposed to be happy. I am supposed to be in love but what did this come to but you controlling me with my weaknesses so that you don’t have to feel alone and unloved.
Routine is something that
enlightens, I think,
but there’s an element to spontaneity that
makes us free
and let’s our minds assume the neutral position,
something which is
grand and
well-deserved and
liberating
the person was imprisoned in the prison.
when they pulled him over in the airport, and discovered he was undocumented, they weren’t nearly as rough as he expected. they offered him water, they bought him a mcdonald’s hamburger, with his own money, and then put him in a van. he was behind bars from the driver but he could see out the window, the hills southeast of San Diego as they drove to the border with Mexico. he’d manage in Mexico, he knew that. go back to the old neighborhood, start dealing again, maybe be a little wiser in the risks he’d taken before. but they stopped short of the border. pulled him from the van, locked chains around his legs, dragged him into a large windowless building, down a hall, threw him in a tiny cell, locked the door, shut the peephole window. he heard them retreating, loud footsteps diminishing to inaudible. on the third day, no food, no water, pissing in the corner with no bucket, he knew they weren’t planning to come back for him. he was 23.
There they were; sitting in the witch’s dark wine cellar. Imprisoned. They had no place to go and no way out. They were deceived. They had left were the lights that came from their phones.
Being imprisoned is a cage, sometimes you feel imprisoned when you are not given easy access to life and its joys. Failure can lock you in a cage until you learn to unlock it using your confidence you gain.
The walls creak and are 5000ft high and i swear they move closer together everyday. The floor is quicksand and i cannot move. I’m stuck. I scream and no one hears. I scream loud. “FIRE!”, “RAPE!” “HELP!” no one answers. I’m stuck. Anxiety. The walls are really 80ft, they stay in place everyday, the floor is carpet and soft. I’m not screaming, no words are coming out, they cant. Anxiety. I’m imprisoned in my own head. I’m stuck.
The bars weren’t physical, but watching them walk down the alley, it felt as nothing in the world could set me free. I watched as the man with two many eyes and the girl with too many hands ambled down the streets. I wished more than anything I could join them.
The bars that held me weren’t physical, but as I strained against them, trying to catch one last glimpse into the reaper’s world, they might as well have been.
We are both imprisoned now. You in a cell. Me in my head. You put us both here. Fuck you.
shmuks
What caught his imagination was that the sky that looked ordinary to him yesterday, looks amazing and desirable once he is behind the bars. He had no intentions of getting caught but he needed to take one for the team to succeed.
Imprisoned means to be in one space and cant go anywhere else.
The murderer was imprisioned for 20 years for his role in the 2000 murder of the young mom from Washington. His life was over as he knew it. He made the best of his time in jail. Learning a foreign language and finding religion.
Imprisoned in life, school, love. In a home, something that is characterised by safety and sanctuary, so many are imprisoned. In school, but people, stress. By pressures by society, peers, loved ones. That your self worth can be judged on a single piece of paper.
imprisomnmet can be justified or not, in america many are improsined wronglu0 achoo the world also, not just america. the death penalty and capital punishment is so so wrong it makes me so andgrt that we can take someone’s life away and people freaking celebrate it like yhwt id that bout liretallu that id so wrong too much power wveryth
This was wrong. She didn’t do anything. She wasn’t capable of doing anything they had accused her of and yet, here she was. Wrongfully imprisoned in the worst place in the world. With no way out.
I imprisoned the chair with bricks. Please don’t judge me.
been there done that and now that youre free youn dont even feel free
been here run fear fear runs us
the news isn’t real
they choose what to cover
i wonder why we choose
to be ignorant
because we are scared
of what it might be like
if we werent
Jack had been imprisoned in his cell for over a week now, the only source of daylight coming through a four inch slit in a crack on the wall. He couldn’t remember how or why he’d been arrested—probably because that night at the saloon he’d had way too much to drink—but now he wanted out and resorted to banging on the cell bars and screaming at the top of his lungs.
As he walked down the hallway he recognized it all. From the stories he thought we tall tales to photographs his grandfather showed him of the cells. He entered his cell and this would be his cell for the next seven months.
Being imprisoned isn’t the best thing to be. You can be imprisoned when you do something wrong; or if you
The heaven above denied the bars that imprisoned me. The sky was clear. The constraints were embedded in my soul.
I am imprisoned by my thoughts. Do my friends really like me? Some don’t I think. I want to escape my bad thoughts. Fuck this is harder than I thought it would be. Escape.
She hit her head against the table and let it rest there. She inhaled sharply and let the air vibrate out of her lips in a sound of exasperation. Cindy ignored her completely, not even granting her an eye-roll of acknowledgment.
Locked in a cold, dark room, he curled into a ball to try and keep warm, in hopes that his body heat would soon radiate to the cement floor under him, and the cold steel bed frame behind him. If he could create his own space within the cell, control a portion of his life, even if it was smaller than his allotment, he could be free.
It was a nice house. Large bay windows, a spacious layout, and even a pool. She stared at the pool often. Even though he never locked the doors, taking a dive seemed like the only way out.
there is steel.
the hum of metal shut in shackles.
you’ve given up screaming long ago,
as you have given up the sun.
whispers here,
the rats in the distance leer
through ink.
I have to treasure every day. It might never be this perfect again.
But I have to go to work. I have to study. I have to read, I have to cook, I have to clean I have to clean my kitchen clean my desk clean my mind my mind clean my mind by cleaning my desk by reading a book by studying by turning off my music by turning off the screen on my phone by pressing the power button in my head if I’m calm it all goes numb if I’m crying it all goes numb if I’m busy how quickly I turn off and go numb and it made me think that darkness and sadness were better than staring at the wall or the computer or a paper waiting to think waiting to move wait, I can make myself move, but I don’t.
Or so I think. I am moving more than ever aren’t I. Still waiting for things I can’t control to fall into place. Am I moving the pieces I can enough? The busier the daily shuffle the longer the shorter breaks feel and the heavier they weigh. It’s really. Ok. I’m really. Ok. I’m real I’m ok I’m just never going to know what 100% feels like, with melodrama and angst veiled in introspection wrapped up tightly enough to leak out only in a dribble through fingers tap tap taping an aging keyboard while I say I’m ok but I’m not but actually I’m better than ever I would turn it off but then I would have nothing at all not a single thing and I want things. If I remember what want means. I want things.
I have sixty seconds to tell you I am imprisoned. In my eyes, my thoughts. I have, however. had a key. He gave it to me. I love him.
How long has the queen been imprisoned? Seven years? Seventeen? Is there gray in her hair and wrinkles beneath her eyes, or is she still young and spry in a darkened cell? Has she been muted, or does she still sing? Her melodies and anthems are missed throughout the land. The king’s been dead for too long now – how much longer until we get our true ruler back? I’ve stopped counting the days; I simply press my body up against the window nearest to the tower, hoping to hear a crescendo of music.