He kept pressing me for answers. I just closed my eyes and held my breath for five seconds. Why couldn’t he let me absorb this horrible tragedy before he needed to know the last place I saw her? I needed that.
Hard pressed. Hard pressed. Hard pressed to think about anything other than him and this ridiculous situation he’s put you in. & all of these feelings that you wish would go away. Plans crashing around you & still, thinking about nothing else. Just rain & jazz music & hoping it will all go away. Wishing the thoughts would go away & he would leave you alone. Hard pressed.
you can get pressed fruit, which makes a smoothie, you can press leaves and make pretty patterns, when something is urgent the matter is pressing, then the president wants to blow up the world, the button is pressed, press the button on the keyboard to make a word, press keys of a keyboard to make music.
Hard pressed. Hard pressed. Hard pressed to think about anything other than him and this ridiculous situation he’s put you in. & all of these feelings that you wish would go away. Plans crashing around you & still, thinking about nothing else. Just rain & jazz music & hoping it will all go away. Wishing the thoughts would go away & he would leave you alone. Hard pressed.
Pressed for time. There seems to be never enough time. Never enough or not spent well I seem to be pressed for time. Up against it, not able to get things done, panicked, really. Pressed for time. One thing you can never get back is the time you squandered, lost really. Pressed for time.
I have felt hard pressed to please people in my life. Squeezed between a rock and a hard spot trying to make every one happy, while adjusting my inner dialog to find the bright spot in any situation. Like the movie Pollyanna…always looking to make the best of a bad situation. Today I don’t do that so much…I am much truer to my own needs first.
as i pressed the button for the elevator i suddenly felt guilty for leaving him like that, what will he do when he realizes i left him. he’ll get furious and destroy his room again. i wish i didnt have to deal with that tomorow. mental sigh. i know i have to anyways.
as the doors were closing i saw a figure running towards me. “Hey wait up” he yelled and i pressed the open button.
I love how I write. I love how I can be free. I want to be free. But being free means that I can do what I want. I want to be guided. Guided to perfection. But I can’t have what I want. No one can have what they want. All they can do is thrive for it.
I think when I write. I think about all the hell that has happened. All the shit people go through. That’s when I remember him. How he made me wait. How I felt so vulnerable waiting. And waiting. And when he told me. I snapped. I just couldn’t deal with him anymore. He has changed. We are not the same anymore. In fact, growing apart is the best thing to do.
A woman ironing a shirt, the pressure builds, the heat increases, intense heat. She is alone in her new apartment, thinking about the day as she completes her daily chores (although ironing is merely a weekly chore). Boxes lay unpacked, scattered about the miniature domicile, seemingly as small as a dollhouse, the walls closing in, so there’s a different pressure.
She pressed against his body. “Don’t leave me” she whispered against the fabric of his button down. “Everyone always leaves, don’t be like them” she softly begged. He held her close and sighed, inhaling the scent of her hair as he rubbed her back softly. “I’m not leaving you, at least not for long, you know I’m always here for you”.
For time: pressed for time. Really life is so short. How are we supposed to get everything done. Life requires so much of us, and there is no way to really know what we should be doing. What is in store for me?
Pressed.
The word.
the feeling.
Being pinned down is one thing.
Your soul, being pressed into a million little pieces.
And so does your heart. It becomes immortality.
The immortality you can never escape. It will no longer satisfy you.
You will thrive. Because we are all new thrivings. Ready to escape hell.
I am pressed against my will. I will always be pressed. Pressed all around. Even where I escape to. I am pressed. I will be pressed into sad memories. I am cursively written. And so are my memories. So enjoy my escape. My escape to my life. It won’t last long. I know that for sure.
i sometimes feel pressed into staying in a predicament that makes me fell stressed and unhappy. Pressed against a wall that I can’t get around, climb over or break through. Pressed to sacrifice my own happiness to make someone else happy.
tomorrow things will change. tomorrow things will get better. tomorrow things will be done. tomorrow i’ll be real. tomorrow terra will come to life. tomorrow, everything will sit in its rightful place and everything will become one.
I’m pressed right now. I have to think. I’ve never been good at thinking. I think I’ll leave it like this. Wait! Some more seconds to come. My God! That’s real pressure. Have I written about the word yet?
His hand felt greasy against my chest, his teeth bared. He pressed hard into my ribs, and my arteries shuddered from the tension. I did not speak. I simply stared at him and made a rather casual remark.
“Look, Ben, I know you’re turning into a werewolf again…but could you ease off for tonight? Otherwise, I’m getting the silver bullets.”
Pressed pants. Pressed to perfection. Always perfection. Always on time. No time to think. No time to stop. Go. Go. Go. Constant movement. Need to breathe. Can’t breathe. No time. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Begin again.
were all pressed. pressed for time. pressed for life. too busy, too vacant, too straight. pressing buttons, pressing everything that doesn’t matter. when no one is pressing the issues that we all seem to forget about. we need to iron out our society..
feeding water to all the things
that broke her, she wove in and out
of sunlight, through the trees and the sky.
i’ve forgotten the mold of her laughter, but
when silver bells sound on christmas eve,
i turn back to smile at
no one.
(so i laugh by myself.)
the ruffles of her dress, swan-diving off the fourth floor
were beautiful. and that feeling of loss when she
fell silent, even more so.
i will tell you this:
her smile was overwhelming. that, i can
remember with painful clarity.
Have you ever been pressed for time? Like it’s your last day in your town before leaving on a big trip and you are set on seeing and saying goodbye to every singe one of your friends? It’s a terrible feeling. It feels like you’re doomed or that you’re setting yourself up for disappointment or that you’re never going to make it.
pressed from stress
stressed from life
not everything catches
life just presses,
presses on
with all of life’s stresses
don’t catch the stress,
the press might catch
the life
The flower was pressed between the yellowed pages of an old french dictionary. How did it get there? The petals were faded and dry. They held memories for some one. What memories?
‘Do you ever feel like a plastic bag?’ These are just the Katy Perry-ish words that came to my mind. Right now, I feel pressed because I do not know if there is a time limit in what I am doing. I just found out there is.
I feel pressed down sometimes. The air, the atmosphere, the molecules in the food we eat. I’m under pressure, to be something I’m not sure I can be. But how is that any different from anyone else? Pressure makes us succeed.
i am in a tunnel follow me mice children gatherers oranges mangoes sardines so clean blackness empty air vacuum compressor air too solid to move sluggish cant breathe asthmatioc guts in head lice purple pressed grapes flowers too many too much too little time wasteland city pretty gone wind.
He walked down the hallway and there were doors on either side. The halls were bright. The wallpaper was tacky and pink. as he journeyed on, the hallway got smallmaller. The wallpaper got tighter and screamed and screamed. He kept walking, squinting to see in the light. No turning back. Suffocation is an unneccessary means of death.
He kept pressing me for answers. I just closed my eyes and held my breath for five seconds. Why couldn’t he let me absorb this horrible tragedy before he needed to know the last place I saw her? I needed that.
Hard pressed. Hard pressed. Hard pressed to think about anything other than him and this ridiculous situation he’s put you in. & all of these feelings that you wish would go away. Plans crashing around you & still, thinking about nothing else. Just rain & jazz music & hoping it will all go away. Wishing the thoughts would go away & he would leave you alone. Hard pressed.
you can get pressed fruit, which makes a smoothie, you can press leaves and make pretty patterns, when something is urgent the matter is pressing, then the president wants to blow up the world, the button is pressed, press the button on the keyboard to make a word, press keys of a keyboard to make music.
Hard pressed. Hard pressed. Hard pressed to think about anything other than him and this ridiculous situation he’s put you in. & all of these feelings that you wish would go away. Plans crashing around you & still, thinking about nothing else. Just rain & jazz music & hoping it will all go away. Wishing the thoughts would go away & he would leave you alone. Hard pressed.
Pressed for time. There seems to be never enough time. Never enough or not spent well I seem to be pressed for time. Up against it, not able to get things done, panicked, really. Pressed for time. One thing you can never get back is the time you squandered, lost really. Pressed for time.
I have felt hard pressed to please people in my life. Squeezed between a rock and a hard spot trying to make every one happy, while adjusting my inner dialog to find the bright spot in any situation. Like the movie Pollyanna…always looking to make the best of a bad situation. Today I don’t do that so much…I am much truer to my own needs first.
as i pressed the button for the elevator i suddenly felt guilty for leaving him like that, what will he do when he realizes i left him. he’ll get furious and destroy his room again. i wish i didnt have to deal with that tomorow. mental sigh. i know i have to anyways.
as the doors were closing i saw a figure running towards me. “Hey wait up” he yelled and i pressed the open button.
Jensen pressed on with his relentless questioning, raising the ire of the Mind.
“What’s with this turd blossom?” the Mind mused.
“And here’s one for your almightyness, What’s with these faster than speed of light neutrinos, anyway?”
Shirt
Iron
Factories
Older
Steam
Steamers
Dress Shirts
Compound
Compressed
Tiny
Flat
Small
Micro
repressed
Press
Down
Flatter
Thin
I love how I write. I love how I can be free. I want to be free. But being free means that I can do what I want. I want to be guided. Guided to perfection. But I can’t have what I want. No one can have what they want. All they can do is thrive for it.
I feel like society presses people to do what they want. Like you are trapped.
I think when I write. I think about all the hell that has happened. All the shit people go through. That’s when I remember him. How he made me wait. How I felt so vulnerable waiting. And waiting. And when he told me. I snapped. I just couldn’t deal with him anymore. He has changed. We are not the same anymore. In fact, growing apart is the best thing to do.
500 independently recorded and designed 7″ vinyls. Gotta buy bags. Gotta buy boxes. So broke. So terribly broke. But we love it. So we’ll do it.
A woman ironing a shirt, the pressure builds, the heat increases, intense heat. She is alone in her new apartment, thinking about the day as she completes her daily chores (although ironing is merely a weekly chore). Boxes lay unpacked, scattered about the miniature domicile, seemingly as small as a dollhouse, the walls closing in, so there’s a different pressure.
She pressed against his body. “Don’t leave me” she whispered against the fabric of his button down. “Everyone always leaves, don’t be like them” she softly begged. He held her close and sighed, inhaling the scent of her hair as he rubbed her back softly. “I’m not leaving you, at least not for long, you know I’m always here for you”.
For time: pressed for time. Really life is so short. How are we supposed to get everything done. Life requires so much of us, and there is no way to really know what we should be doing. What is in store for me?
Pressed.
The word.
the feeling.
Being pinned down is one thing.
Your soul, being pressed into a million little pieces.
And so does your heart. It becomes immortality.
The immortality you can never escape. It will no longer satisfy you.
You will thrive. Because we are all new thrivings. Ready to escape hell.
a button can be pressed witch means you push it with your finger…
I am pressed against my will. I will always be pressed. Pressed all around. Even where I escape to. I am pressed. I will be pressed into sad memories. I am cursively written. And so are my memories. So enjoy my escape. My escape to my life. It won’t last long. I know that for sure.
sigh. smashed. squished. i feel pressed between two hot plates, two irons, two dark giant metal walls crushing me inward.
the only thing to do is breathe deeply and go with it. let it happen.
relax into my own pressing.
i sometimes feel pressed into staying in a predicament that makes me fell stressed and unhappy. Pressed against a wall that I can’t get around, climb over or break through. Pressed to sacrifice my own happiness to make someone else happy.
tomorrow things will change. tomorrow things will get better. tomorrow things will be done. tomorrow i’ll be real. tomorrow terra will come to life. tomorrow, everything will sit in its rightful place and everything will become one.
the child pressed herself to her mothers chest. her mothers scent enveloped her and she found herself in a comfortable familiarity
I’m pressed right now. I have to think. I’ve never been good at thinking. I think I’ll leave it like this. Wait! Some more seconds to come. My God! That’s real pressure. Have I written about the word yet?
His hand felt greasy against my chest, his teeth bared. He pressed hard into my ribs, and my arteries shuddered from the tension. I did not speak. I simply stared at him and made a rather casual remark.
“Look, Ben, I know you’re turning into a werewolf again…but could you ease off for tonight? Otherwise, I’m getting the silver bullets.”
Pressed pants. Pressed to perfection. Always perfection. Always on time. No time to think. No time to stop. Go. Go. Go. Constant movement. Need to breathe. Can’t breathe. No time. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Begin again.
were all pressed. pressed for time. pressed for life. too busy, too vacant, too straight. pressing buttons, pressing everything that doesn’t matter. when no one is pressing the issues that we all seem to forget about. we need to iron out our society..
feeding water to all the things
that broke her, she wove in and out
of sunlight, through the trees and the sky.
i’ve forgotten the mold of her laughter, but
when silver bells sound on christmas eve,
i turn back to smile at
no one.
(so i laugh by myself.)
the ruffles of her dress, swan-diving off the fourth floor
were beautiful. and that feeling of loss when she
fell silent, even more so.
i will tell you this:
her smile was overwhelming. that, i can
remember with painful clarity.
i pressed my balls against a wall
Have you ever been pressed for time? Like it’s your last day in your town before leaving on a big trip and you are set on seeing and saying goodbye to every singe one of your friends? It’s a terrible feeling. It feels like you’re doomed or that you’re setting yourself up for disappointment or that you’re never going to make it.
pressed from stress
stressed from life
not everything catches
life just presses,
presses on
with all of life’s stresses
don’t catch the stress,
the press might catch
the life
pressed
pressed aginst the wall
no room to breath
struggling
beating
i hope it doesnt end like this
pressed against the wall
hopeless
starched, sharp, hard, crisp, stressed, how I feel at 10 am, how I feel at 11 at night, how I’ll feel tomorrow
The flower was pressed between the yellowed pages of an old french dictionary. How did it get there? The petals were faded and dry. They held memories for some one. What memories?
I am a sheet with no writing.
There is nothing but pressure in a world that wants me to be flat.
I want texture, but this is not what they want me to be.
I am myself, I am rough.
Don’t press me, or I’ll press back.
I pressed my thumb, my blood pressure just it roof top, it was in news papers, iron, clothes, depressed, remedy
‘Do you ever feel like a plastic bag?’ These are just the Katy Perry-ish words that came to my mind. Right now, I feel pressed because I do not know if there is a time limit in what I am doing. I just found out there is.
back pressed against the wall
the wind hits my face
your eyes are just dots from this high
but they are still beautiful
I feel pressed down sometimes. The air, the atmosphere, the molecules in the food we eat. I’m under pressure, to be something I’m not sure I can be. But how is that any different from anyone else? Pressure makes us succeed.
i am in a tunnel follow me mice children gatherers oranges mangoes sardines so clean blackness empty air vacuum compressor air too solid to move sluggish cant breathe asthmatioc guts in head lice purple pressed grapes flowers too many too much too little time wasteland city pretty gone wind.
He walked down the hallway and there were doors on either side. The halls were bright. The wallpaper was tacky and pink. as he journeyed on, the hallway got smallmaller. The wallpaper got tighter and screamed and screamed. He kept walking, squinting to see in the light. No turning back. Suffocation is an unneccessary means of death.