She drank the punch standing alone on the terrace. She knew he could see her, but just stood there, not caring about him, or anything else. She was nearly dead inside. Drinking the punch made everything only worse…
I felt like I had been delivered a one-two punch to the gut. How could he be saying this to me? How did it come to this? Will I ever be able to pick up the pieces? Thank heavens I was able to fend off the blow and come up victorious.
With an angry hostility, I threw my fists against his chest. It did nothing to change the pain, and it did nothing to cause more. The metaphorical punch that he delivered to me, the goodbye, so long, see you later, was the worst pain he could have caused.
The tack hung loosely from the door. From all its swinging, the little thing had gotten lose and was now about to fall to the floor. It teetered on the edge of the tiny hole it had created long ago. Just as it was about to release itself from its perch, Amy stepped in and pushed it firmly back into place. It would take another few hundred swings of the door again to get it back to where it had just been.
She took a long, enthusiastic drought, the bits her mouth could not take spilling over and streaking down her cheeks and chin in eerie triumph. She slammed her plastic cup down on the table so hard, it cracked. Across the room, he laughed jocularly with a few of his most vacuous comrades, never knowing how the fist his lip was about to meet would sting in its smallness.
My biggest fear is getting in a fist fight with someone
but I’m absolutely possitive that it’s going to happen one day.
I could understand someone wanting to punch me.
I can be a real jerk sometimes. And I’m always whining.
I don’t have any muscle on me.
I would get my ass kicked. In a minute, probably less.
I bruise really easily too.
Last year a girl in the grade below me wanted to fight me.
She thought that I liked her boyfriend because we were really good friends.
She would win, absolutely.
But she didn’t try to fight me. Which was pretty cool.
Because I would have gotten my ass kicked.
But I can be a real jerk sometimes.
So I ended up winning the fight.
Verbally.
!
I punched him in the face. Cleanly and quickly. He fell down like a sack of tatties. I looked at what I had done. My fist clenched, aching and throbbing.
you. in the head. you have a bid head. both figuratively and literally. i wish i could punch you in the heart so you could feel something. but your head is an easier target. oversized teeth. eyes. green (by name only). i think if i punched you, you’d deflate. a shell of what i’d imagined. and i’d be left with the memory of that big head.
Five fingers, four knuckles collide with his cheek bone. Feel the collision, feel his weak pain. Feel the hate being transferred, rubbed off onto his skin. Feel the hurt being released on his precious bone. The structure I once doted over, still the center of my fixation, but now because of its discoloration: pinkish blue, the color of the hearts I once doodles around his name, then the purple turning to black–the dark feelings I had for him now. If they hadn’t shown on my face now, they sure did on his. Feel the tears I cried smacking his skin like the rain throwing itself onto the sidewalk. Feel it all. If only the punch could do what I needed. If only this punch could be as hard as his punch to my heart. His punch was much worse than mine could ever be. His punch bruised me inside, left me without a band-aid large enough to cover and without make-up enough to hide. His punch left me breathless, like a smack to the gut, it left me blind like a poke to both eyes and left me speechless like knocking out my tongue. He punched me hard and got me bad. Then, he turns back to me and punches back again. As his eyes plunge toward me, they strike me hard, unexpected. Shouldn’t my punch have fixed this? Shouldn’t my punch have numbed this pain? His assault brought the tears, it brought the feelings and the pain and the hurt and the need for him and love. If only I was THAT powerful. If only I was strong enough to punch him with my looks, to kill him with my heart and paralyze him for good-as he can do to me. If only I wasn’t so weak, to fall apart and I was strong and bold. If only my punch could get in him and really tear him apart. If only he loved me and the punches woudn’t be thrown at each other but at life–that we would be fighting through life together.
I took a punch from a giant kangaroo, he could pack a mean punch. we went toe to toe for so long how could it end in a loss. if i only learn one thing from this, it would be dont look for trouble with a big kangaroo
Where too from here? Falling to the ground. Where did that come from. So forceful, so hard, so hateful. Surely my words could not be so misconstrued. I wonder whether I’ll ever rise again.
Can be painful. Involves closing your hadns and clenching them into a fist. Then you hit the person and it hurts. Seen a lot in street fights and boxing. The difference is in boxing the blows are in certain spots since the objective is to knock the other person out. In a street fight, it is random blows, or haymakers, and you just want to make the person feel pain. Sometimes, its not always meant to be mean or in attack, it can be playful, like when your messing around with a friend. Its also make me think of fruit punch. it leaves a red mustache and you look all funny with it.
i’ve only seen a real punch in real life once and the picture stayed with me forever. i want to punch ana because she deserves it. i might do it right now because she’s right next to me….
wow i cant believe molly had the nerve to punch me. who does she think she is? the queen?!?!?! GOD she makes me so angry and i dont know what to do about it. next time i see molly i am going to give her the hardest punch in the history of punches. that will give her a piece of my mind. stupid girl.
I want to punch this computer and this stupid website in the face. It is not working. I wrote a good piece but it didnt work. There is no timer on this so I could be writing this all day.
to use anger towards one another in physical contact.
“a boy PUNCHED another boy because he made fun of his t shirt”
“I can’t believe i punched that girl today. She was being so mean to me and it was my first reaction to her unkindness. I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“There were two boys fighting today and I didnt enjoy watching them punch each other.”
Today I was walking down the streets and I saw an inncocent child get punched in the face. I was a little shocked why this kid was punched in the face. Was it because of his ethnicity? His age? I was puzzled.
What’s to know
don’t know
dreams
Nothing makes sense
Doesn’t need to
Who are you
Voices, Voices, Voices
Sometimes I talk to myself
Who are you
What is this place
Where am I
How am I?
Too many questions
You never answered
Who are you
What is your name, mister voice
Who
Who
Who
Sometimes you say things to me
Who are you
Won’t you talk to me more, Mr. Unknown
Mister Voice.
No more sense
Never was
I want to punch you. But I punch like a girl. I know I do. If I could do it – if I could break your nose or knock out a tooth or fracture your jaw I probably would. But then again, I’d probably have better results from kicking you in the groin.
She punched me emotionally,
then physically,
then spiritually,
again and again, over and over,
with words that seemed to make no sense,
with intent that was clear,
but the words,
they made no sense,
I,
punch,
don’t,
punch,
love,
punch,
you,
anymore…
“May I offer you some punch?” Maurice handed Gabrielle a glass filled to the brim with the red liquid. As he watched her carefully lean forward to take a sip, he was rewarded with a splendid view of her décolletage. “Ah, these Sunday afternoon school mixers really are a delight, aren’t they,” he remarked with guileless smile.
“I want to punch him. Punch him hard. He took her from me, stole her. I want to feel the pain in my hand as it connects with his cheekbone and hopefully hear him cry in pain. She was mine, all mine,” he said gripping the foot board of the bed tightly.
Dont give a punch to the face of oppenent
She drank the punch standing alone on the terrace. She knew he could see her, but just stood there, not caring about him, or anything else. She was nearly dead inside. Drinking the punch made everything only worse…
I felt like I had been delivered a one-two punch to the gut. How could he be saying this to me? How did it come to this? Will I ever be able to pick up the pieces? Thank heavens I was able to fend off the blow and come up victorious.
With an angry hostility, I threw my fists against his chest. It did nothing to change the pain, and it did nothing to cause more. The metaphorical punch that he delivered to me, the goodbye, so long, see you later, was the worst pain he could have caused.
SHE PUNCHED YOU ON THE FACE
DUDE, I LAUGH MY ASS OUT
YOU HAVE NO IDEA IM NOT JOKING
He took a punch to the face and fell down the stairs into the punch bowl. He took a cup and filled it with punch, drank it, and went home.
The tack hung loosely from the door. From all its swinging, the little thing had gotten lose and was now about to fall to the floor. It teetered on the edge of the tiny hole it had created long ago. Just as it was about to release itself from its perch, Amy stepped in and pushed it firmly back into place. It would take another few hundred swings of the door again to get it back to where it had just been.
She took a long, enthusiastic drought, the bits her mouth could not take spilling over and streaking down her cheeks and chin in eerie triumph. She slammed her plastic cup down on the table so hard, it cracked. Across the room, he laughed jocularly with a few of his most vacuous comrades, never knowing how the fist his lip was about to meet would sting in its smallness.
bam ,face, blood, thoughts, over, mirror, done, tape, cry, pain, tears, anger, over, glass, silence, health, heal, sequence, stutter, life
cherry
thirsty parched.
kick in the teeth
hit, beat.
yolk breakfast eggs waffles syrup
maple tree climb climb climb
reach
fall.
the punch line wasnt funny
his fist was ready to punch
fruit punch is my favorite juice
punch
My biggest fear is getting in a fist fight with someone
but I’m absolutely possitive that it’s going to happen one day.
I could understand someone wanting to punch me.
I can be a real jerk sometimes. And I’m always whining.
I don’t have any muscle on me.
I would get my ass kicked. In a minute, probably less.
I bruise really easily too.
Last year a girl in the grade below me wanted to fight me.
She thought that I liked her boyfriend because we were really good friends.
She would win, absolutely.
But she didn’t try to fight me. Which was pretty cool.
Because I would have gotten my ass kicked.
But I can be a real jerk sometimes.
So I ended up winning the fight.
Verbally.
!
She beat you to the punch
I try to deny my feelings
But every time I see her face
My thoughts go insane
I think she stole my heart away
“Just the one?” “…yeah.” “…and she went down?” “… yeah.” “…dude, let me shake your hand!”
I thought it was punch. It looked like punch, and had the consistency of punch, but with one sip I knew… the Seniors had pulled off their prank.
I punched him in the face. Cleanly and quickly. He fell down like a sack of tatties. I looked at what I had done. My fist clenched, aching and throbbing.
Sometimes people really make you want to punch them right in the face.
you. in the head. you have a bid head. both figuratively and literally. i wish i could punch you in the heart so you could feel something. but your head is an easier target. oversized teeth. eyes. green (by name only). i think if i punched you, you’d deflate. a shell of what i’d imagined. and i’d be left with the memory of that big head.
Five fingers, four knuckles collide with his cheek bone. Feel the collision, feel his weak pain. Feel the hate being transferred, rubbed off onto his skin. Feel the hurt being released on his precious bone. The structure I once doted over, still the center of my fixation, but now because of its discoloration: pinkish blue, the color of the hearts I once doodles around his name, then the purple turning to black–the dark feelings I had for him now. If they hadn’t shown on my face now, they sure did on his. Feel the tears I cried smacking his skin like the rain throwing itself onto the sidewalk. Feel it all. If only the punch could do what I needed. If only this punch could be as hard as his punch to my heart. His punch was much worse than mine could ever be. His punch bruised me inside, left me without a band-aid large enough to cover and without make-up enough to hide. His punch left me breathless, like a smack to the gut, it left me blind like a poke to both eyes and left me speechless like knocking out my tongue. He punched me hard and got me bad. Then, he turns back to me and punches back again. As his eyes plunge toward me, they strike me hard, unexpected. Shouldn’t my punch have fixed this? Shouldn’t my punch have numbed this pain? His assault brought the tears, it brought the feelings and the pain and the hurt and the need for him and love. If only I was THAT powerful. If only I was strong enough to punch him with my looks, to kill him with my heart and paralyze him for good-as he can do to me. If only I wasn’t so weak, to fall apart and I was strong and bold. If only my punch could get in him and really tear him apart. If only he loved me and the punches woudn’t be thrown at each other but at life–that we would be fighting through life together.
I took a punch from a giant kangaroo, he could pack a mean punch. we went toe to toe for so long how could it end in a loss. if i only learn one thing from this, it would be dont look for trouble with a big kangaroo
Where too from here? Falling to the ground. Where did that come from. So forceful, so hard, so hateful. Surely my words could not be so misconstrued. I wonder whether I’ll ever rise again.
Can be painful. Involves closing your hadns and clenching them into a fist. Then you hit the person and it hurts. Seen a lot in street fights and boxing. The difference is in boxing the blows are in certain spots since the objective is to knock the other person out. In a street fight, it is random blows, or haymakers, and you just want to make the person feel pain. Sometimes, its not always meant to be mean or in attack, it can be playful, like when your messing around with a friend. Its also make me think of fruit punch. it leaves a red mustache and you look all funny with it.
i’ve only seen a real punch in real life once and the picture stayed with me forever. i want to punch ana because she deserves it. i might do it right now because she’s right next to me….
I witnessed an innocent little girl take a punch from her older brother.
i took a punch from a kangaroo, boy he had packed a good one. We went toe to toe for so long how could it end this way
wow i cant believe molly had the nerve to punch me. who does she think she is? the queen?!?!?! GOD she makes me so angry and i dont know what to do about it. next time i see molly i am going to give her the hardest punch in the history of punches. that will give her a piece of my mind. stupid girl.
i did this already what the hell….
this isn’t working!
I want to punch this computer and this stupid website in the face. It is not working. I wrote a good piece but it didnt work. There is no timer on this so I could be writing this all day.
blah blah blah
I punch the dog.
to use anger towards one another in physical contact.
“a boy PUNCHED another boy because he made fun of his t shirt”
“I can’t believe i punched that girl today. She was being so mean to me and it was my first reaction to her unkindness. I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“There were two boys fighting today and I didnt enjoy watching them punch each other.”
The kid was punched through the window as school was let out. The bully was here, and not here to kid around. The scrawny kid was scared.
Today I was walking down the streets and I saw an inncocent child get punched in the face. I was a little shocked why this kid was punched in the face. Was it because of his ethnicity? His age? I was puzzled.
What’s to know
don’t know
dreams
Nothing makes sense
Doesn’t need to
Who are you
Voices, Voices, Voices
Sometimes I talk to myself
Who are you
What is this place
Where am I
How am I?
Too many questions
You never answered
Who are you
What is your name, mister voice
Who
Who
Who
Sometimes you say things to me
Who are you
Won’t you talk to me more, Mr. Unknown
Mister Voice.
No more sense
Never was
I want to punch you. But I punch like a girl. I know I do. If I could do it – if I could break your nose or knock out a tooth or fracture your jaw I probably would. But then again, I’d probably have better results from kicking you in the groin.
ttt
She punched me emotionally,
then physically,
then spiritually,
again and again, over and over,
with words that seemed to make no sense,
with intent that was clear,
but the words,
they made no sense,
I,
punch,
don’t,
punch,
love,
punch,
you,
anymore…
Knockout punch!
“May I offer you some punch?” Maurice handed Gabrielle a glass filled to the brim with the red liquid. As he watched her carefully lean forward to take a sip, he was rewarded with a splendid view of her décolletage. “Ah, these Sunday afternoon school mixers really are a delight, aren’t they,” he remarked with guileless smile.
“I want to punch him. Punch him hard. He took her from me, stole her. I want to feel the pain in my hand as it connects with his cheekbone and hopefully hear him cry in pain. She was mine, all mine,” he said gripping the foot board of the bed tightly.