Old men grow old slowly – old women never – that’s what my dad said as he pinned the bugs to the board – i looked at him in the dim l;igjht of the shed where he spent most of his time – pottering as he said – escaping more like – and I wondered who was the closer confined – the pickled bug or the desiccated old insect before me
You thought it was so damn clever of you, to slip that dead beatle into my ham sandwich. I worried for a split second that the crunch was cucumber. I hate cucumber.
As the small creeping thing struggled up his arm hairs in the night I watched and sympathized. Lay there motionless as it plummeted and started its interminable journey once more.
It’s like a biting insect, a parasitic taste of independence. Not even her shame can stop her from flying this time. Because now, now she is on her own. No boundaries, no fetters. Just her and the open road.
Oh man, I hate insects. Hatred is wrong I guess, and hating something that isn’t self aware is sort of like hating the wind but nevertheless I object to the entire idea of them. I suppose it’s selfish to enjoy the benefits of a complete and functioning eco system but turn my nose up at a vital contributor.
you look at me like an insect
you treat me like i’m one too
insignificant, small
something until you want me to be nothing
and i’m submissive
you crush me
and i still love you
This year the mosquitoes have been really bad. I used to be able to avoid having them bite me by standing next to my husband. They liked him more. However, now, not so much. I find them not only annoying but a bit scary too. I’ll be glad when it gets too cold for them to be out!
sometimes they can be a little creepy but looking at the gorgeous emerald creature that was climbing the creeper outside her door, she couldn’t help but be inspired by the jewel tones into thinking of a new jewellery line. Rushing inside, she couldn’t wait to begin!
i don’t really like them, to be honest. creepy little bastards crawling all over my stuff like they own the place. only i am am allowed to crawl around like i own the place.
When I see this word, I think of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom…when Indy and the kid(I cannot remember his name right now)are stuck in that room with the spikes coming out of the floor and ceiling…then that chick( can’t remember her name either) has all of those nasty bugs all over her when she pulls the lever that opens the room…Man, now that’s going to be killing me not being able to think of their names. Crap.
Their come in all shapes and size, but their all have one thing in common, their are a pest. Insect, there are call, and though their have an important role to play in the evolution of things, their are most annoying.
It’s a funny-looking insect, really. It just crawls back to forth like it has little destination. I know it does. It has a much direction as I do in my path to meet you. It’s a small amount of satisfaction, but nevertheless, omnipresent.
What a darling little insect! Look … tiny little wings, and adorable little feelers! Such innocence … one wishes that there were more of this in the world!
Beneath the glaring eyes of the moon, an insect tip-toed with sweat trailing down his shiny forehead. The last night of escape. His buzzing was deafening, taunting.
Insects.
Butterflies are insects. They come from a very small egg, and they eat their way outside of their tiny home into a different world as a tiny caterpillar. These little creatures in a way look like miniature pieces of art, with their colourful and sometimes unusual patterns that either camouflage with their predominately green realm, or contrast with their surroundings. After spending most of their time as caterpillars exploring this world, and eating plenty of leafy greens these creatures will bind themselves to a branch and hide in their self made sticky domain for a few weeks. During that time, they grow and morph into a creature that does not even resemble a caterpillar. They grow wings and learn to fly.
There’s something important about the life of a butterfly.
The sky hummed with life. The insect landed on the palm of my hand. A blie dragonfly. Normally i’m quite scared of anything with more than 4 legs and wings, but this was sort of magical- a communion between myself and nature.
She felt like an insect, devoid of the ability to utilize complex thoughts and utterly unnoticed, save for when she took to buzzing about the ears of others. The day had become so tiresome that really, she was just waiting for someone to squash her and put an end to it all.
Each little scar on her skin marked out the path she had taken. One scar for one mistake. They purpled her skin, leaving her an un-natural cluster of a dozen different shades of blue, as if she were constantly being eaten by her own mental insects.
They needed time to heal completely, but she could not give them that. She had to keep moving, keep wondering, keep finding. The heat beamed down on her with a force that kept her going. She was the bruised girl. Going wherever the hell she thought she needed to go. She fought of the monsters and hushed her voices, she was alone, and somehow she was fine with that. Her dust covered weathered old boots clunked with every step her thin frame made, her shirt loosely blowing in the spitting wind. She walked with the strength a warrior of battle could hold. That’s what she was in the end; the bruised girl, warrior of her world.
insects are one of the few creatures where man enjoys playing god with. they get to decide who lives and who dies and at times the number we have control over is unaccoutable. i would hate to be an insect.
It was crawling on my skin. I can remember the itchy, scratchy, and all non-human legs pulling a heavy body across my Arm. It was damaged, as was I. This insect.
a green sting
and then a red blob and an itch spreading skin flaking – and now there’s a tiny drop of red bllod- mine and the rest is probably being carried airborn- on to the next victim-
I laugh every time I walk through the insect hall at the museum of natural history. I feel like I’ve conquered a world, even though I had nothing to do with the capturing of said creepy crawlies.
i hate insects. i hate them so much, that i kill them on sight.
i don’t do that shit where i see ’em and let them free.
don’t waste time trying to slide a sheet of paper under all of their god damn legs to lay ’em down on the grass outside.
i see a bug, it gets the boot.
or the shoe, or sometimes the flip-flop.
i broke its back with a descending fist and watched it twitch with a twist to my lip. it was an accident, and badly felt in my guts as its dry-twig body caused my stomach to roll and a tear squeeze from my eyes as its life passed by
Insects make my skin crawl. Or is that bugs? My eccentric, rebellious cousin loves to look at them close up, see their hairy legs and colorful wings, their bulging eyes staring into her from the smooth screen of her computer. She sees beauty in them, they make my skin crawl.
the tiny insect flew into the air with its sharp, sheer wings. i watched as it rapidly dashed by my eyes with such purpose and, perhaps, even violence. yet, the little bug was beautiful, so solemnly graceful . it sparkled and seemed to whisper a soft little buzz to my ear. “break the mold”, it said, and buzzed off as violently and gracefully as it came.
the small spotted creature made its way to my nose, and up to my cheeks. it tickled, but it was magical. it was like god put the lady bug there for me only. and it made me happy. i smiled a bright smile.
The insect was funny lookin’. I didn’t want to touch it, but I felt compelled to do so. It’s back was hard and shiny. How did it get here? I knew the wind was bringing something along with it, but I had no idea that it was bringing small friends…who reproduce!
Glittering wings and mechanical buzzing shot through the air like a hundred tiny javelins – sound surrounded them so cold and unwavering it did not seem like they could come from something organic. thousands of faceted eyes – staring.
insecticide i have been told is one of the most virulent substances on the planet. im no big fan of insects myself, but it seems to be such a tragic death they suffer when humans pester them with chemicals. i wish we could find a way to live in harmony and serve pancakes to each other. is that how virulent should be used?
I feel a tickle on my leg and without thought, I scratch it. Oh holly hell. The fucking mosquitoes nearly ate me alive. I can’t stop itching now. I can tell they held on for a long time because of the huge, itchy welts on my legs and my arms. Yet, for some reason I am not too distraught over it. Every time I reach to itch these stewpid (yes, stewpid…not stupid) mosquitoes bites, it reminds me of him; holding me so tightly in his arms and kissing me as if he would never see me again. I wish I could see him every day and live in his arms, inhaling his scent. His embrace warms my heart and puts a smile on my face. Smiles have been so rare for me lately. Real ones, at least. I hate this. I wish I could just let out a long forceful cry, but I can’t. I am physically unable to cry. I can feel the pain and the sadness stirring inside, but my one release, I am incapable of. Fucking mosquitoes. Why did they not suck the life out of me?
She was just an insect, totally deserving of some sort of insecticidal gas. Manipulable and easily squashed.
It would probably be easier if she were just nothing. People don’t feel anything about nothing.
Old men grow old slowly – old women never – that’s what my dad said as he pinned the bugs to the board – i looked at him in the dim l;igjht of the shed where he spent most of his time – pottering as he said – escaping more like – and I wondered who was the closer confined – the pickled bug or the desiccated old insect before me
You thought it was so damn clever of you, to slip that dead beatle into my ham sandwich. I worried for a split second that the crunch was cucumber. I hate cucumber.
As the small creeping thing struggled up his arm hairs in the night I watched and sympathized. Lay there motionless as it plummeted and started its interminable journey once more.
I’m sorry, six legged friend,
that you disgust so many people.
A tiny bug.
A small insect.
Why must we always say TINY and SMALL, are there HUGE and BIG insects?
This has nothing for me, this word means nothing to me. I feel nothing for this word, this might be stupid or not, but I don’t like it.
they tortured our emotions and threatened the purity of our land and race.
misunderstanding turned tragedy.
insecticide.
It’s like a biting insect, a parasitic taste of independence. Not even her shame can stop her from flying this time. Because now, now she is on her own. No boundaries, no fetters. Just her and the open road.
This is her freedom.
Oh man, I hate insects. Hatred is wrong I guess, and hating something that isn’t self aware is sort of like hating the wind but nevertheless I object to the entire idea of them. I suppose it’s selfish to enjoy the benefits of a complete and functioning eco system but turn my nose up at a vital contributor.
an insect is a rather unattractive creature – there are lots of them – am I doing this right? – what’s the difference between an insect and a bug?
Like a giddy moth I make a mad dash for the sacred light, only to find that it’s the last place I want to be.
you look at me like an insect
you treat me like i’m one too
insignificant, small
something until you want me to be nothing
and i’m submissive
you crush me
and i still love you
This year the mosquitoes have been really bad. I used to be able to avoid having them bite me by standing next to my husband. They liked him more. However, now, not so much. I find them not only annoying but a bit scary too. I’ll be glad when it gets too cold for them to be out!
sometimes they can be a little creepy but looking at the gorgeous emerald creature that was climbing the creeper outside her door, she couldn’t help but be inspired by the jewel tones into thinking of a new jewellery line. Rushing inside, she couldn’t wait to begin!
Inspiration came in the strangest places!
i don’t really like them, to be honest. creepy little bastards crawling all over my stuff like they own the place. only i am am allowed to crawl around like i own the place.
When I see this word, I think of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom…when Indy and the kid(I cannot remember his name right now)are stuck in that room with the spikes coming out of the floor and ceiling…then that chick( can’t remember her name either) has all of those nasty bugs all over her when she pulls the lever that opens the room…Man, now that’s going to be killing me not being able to think of their names. Crap.
Their come in all shapes and size, but their all have one thing in common, their are a pest. Insect, there are call, and though their have an important role to play in the evolution of things, their are most annoying.
It’s a funny-looking insect, really. It just crawls back to forth like it has little destination. I know it does. It has a much direction as I do in my path to meet you. It’s a small amount of satisfaction, but nevertheless, omnipresent.
What a darling little insect! Look … tiny little wings, and adorable little feelers! Such innocence … one wishes that there were more of this in the world!
Beneath the glaring eyes of the moon, an insect tip-toed with sweat trailing down his shiny forehead. The last night of escape. His buzzing was deafening, taunting.
Insects.
Butterflies are insects. They come from a very small egg, and they eat their way outside of their tiny home into a different world as a tiny caterpillar. These little creatures in a way look like miniature pieces of art, with their colourful and sometimes unusual patterns that either camouflage with their predominately green realm, or contrast with their surroundings. After spending most of their time as caterpillars exploring this world, and eating plenty of leafy greens these creatures will bind themselves to a branch and hide in their self made sticky domain for a few weeks. During that time, they grow and morph into a creature that does not even resemble a caterpillar. They grow wings and learn to fly.
There’s something important about the life of a butterfly.
The sky hummed with life. The insect landed on the palm of my hand. A blie dragonfly. Normally i’m quite scared of anything with more than 4 legs and wings, but this was sort of magical- a communion between myself and nature.
She felt like an insect, devoid of the ability to utilize complex thoughts and utterly unnoticed, save for when she took to buzzing about the ears of others. The day had become so tiresome that really, she was just waiting for someone to squash her and put an end to it all.
Each little scar on her skin marked out the path she had taken. One scar for one mistake. They purpled her skin, leaving her an un-natural cluster of a dozen different shades of blue, as if she were constantly being eaten by her own mental insects.
They needed time to heal completely, but she could not give them that. She had to keep moving, keep wondering, keep finding. The heat beamed down on her with a force that kept her going. She was the bruised girl. Going wherever the hell she thought she needed to go. She fought of the monsters and hushed her voices, she was alone, and somehow she was fine with that. Her dust covered weathered old boots clunked with every step her thin frame made, her shirt loosely blowing in the spitting wind. She walked with the strength a warrior of battle could hold. That’s what she was in the end; the bruised girl, warrior of her world.
insects are one of the few creatures where man enjoys playing god with. they get to decide who lives and who dies and at times the number we have control over is unaccoutable. i would hate to be an insect.
It was crawling on my skin. I can remember the itchy, scratchy, and all non-human legs pulling a heavy body across my Arm. It was damaged, as was I. This insect.
a green sting
and then a red blob and an itch spreading skin flaking – and now there’s a tiny drop of red bllod- mine and the rest is probably being carried airborn- on to the next victim-
Creative writing means to write from your heart. It is the visualization of our mind.
I laugh every time I walk through the insect hall at the museum of natural history. I feel like I’ve conquered a world, even though I had nothing to do with the capturing of said creepy crawlies.
Insect crawled over the leaf as the dew drop gently fell sweeping it away down the stem.
i hate insects. i hate them so much, that i kill them on sight.
i don’t do that shit where i see ’em and let them free.
don’t waste time trying to slide a sheet of paper under all of their god damn legs to lay ’em down on the grass outside.
i see a bug, it gets the boot.
or the shoe, or sometimes the flip-flop.
i broke its back with a descending fist and watched it twitch with a twist to my lip. it was an accident, and badly felt in my guts as its dry-twig body caused my stomach to roll and a tear squeeze from my eyes as its life passed by
Insects make my skin crawl. Or is that bugs? My eccentric, rebellious cousin loves to look at them close up, see their hairy legs and colorful wings, their bulging eyes staring into her from the smooth screen of her computer. She sees beauty in them, they make my skin crawl.
Her allergic insect bite wounds healed as the sun faded and her high heels crunched along the leaf carpeted pavement.
the tiny insect flew into the air with its sharp, sheer wings. i watched as it rapidly dashed by my eyes with such purpose and, perhaps, even violence. yet, the little bug was beautiful, so solemnly graceful . it sparkled and seemed to whisper a soft little buzz to my ear. “break the mold”, it said, and buzzed off as violently and gracefully as it came.
the small spotted creature made its way to my nose, and up to my cheeks. it tickled, but it was magical. it was like god put the lady bug there for me only. and it made me happy. i smiled a bright smile.
The insect was funny lookin’. I didn’t want to touch it, but I felt compelled to do so. It’s back was hard and shiny. How did it get here? I knew the wind was bringing something along with it, but I had no idea that it was bringing small friends…who reproduce!
Glittering wings and mechanical buzzing shot through the air like a hundred tiny javelins – sound surrounded them so cold and unwavering it did not seem like they could come from something organic. thousands of faceted eyes – staring.
insecticide i have been told is one of the most virulent substances on the planet. im no big fan of insects myself, but it seems to be such a tragic death they suffer when humans pester them with chemicals. i wish we could find a way to live in harmony and serve pancakes to each other. is that how virulent should be used?
I feel a tickle on my leg and without thought, I scratch it. Oh holly hell. The fucking mosquitoes nearly ate me alive. I can’t stop itching now. I can tell they held on for a long time because of the huge, itchy welts on my legs and my arms. Yet, for some reason I am not too distraught over it. Every time I reach to itch these stewpid (yes, stewpid…not stupid) mosquitoes bites, it reminds me of him; holding me so tightly in his arms and kissing me as if he would never see me again. I wish I could see him every day and live in his arms, inhaling his scent. His embrace warms my heart and puts a smile on my face. Smiles have been so rare for me lately. Real ones, at least. I hate this. I wish I could just let out a long forceful cry, but I can’t. I am physically unable to cry. I can feel the pain and the sadness stirring inside, but my one release, I am incapable of. Fucking mosquitoes. Why did they not suck the life out of me?
She was just an insect, totally deserving of some sort of insecticidal gas. Manipulable and easily squashed.
It would probably be easier if she were just nothing. People don’t feel anything about nothing.