He’s ragged and rough and everything I shouldn’t want. Scarred and burnt and there’s something about his smile, something about it that’s verging on bad but stays on the side of good so I can’t really decide whether he’s good for me or not.
raggedy ann, andy, candy cane rag. I snag your ragged ass to the bone, and you shiver in excitement. Sometimes I come out ragged, and sometimes I rag myself up, but most times, the earth runs ragged through my veins.
The ragged dress lay disproportionally across her body. Parts of her stomach showed what none of her clothes had ever shown before. She felt dirt. Like a whore. But then again, she was one.
They run me ragged in this place. But I like the feeling. Of being used. Of being wanted. Of being needed. And to top it all off, I run myself ragged on the weekends. I force my body to work in ways you couldn’t imagine.
there was a ragged doll name suzy with ragged aedges and plaited red hair. she was ragged and old. and dry at night she was cold. suzy was a ragged doll with plaited red hair. her hair was raggedy because she was a ragged doll. suzy was owned by mary who collected ragged dolls. suzy loved mary and mary love her back.
it was torn, frazzled and beat to death by the weather. The holes made her arms hairs stand up on end as she tries despartley to rub the bumps out, more like push them into her skin from where they came. she made it home finally and into the coridore she went. Straight to the fire place where she felt the warmpth of home and a crackling fire that she suddenlt threw herself into and burned all her fleash off till she turned black as coal. her mom ust shrugged it off ans sayd aloud “stupid little bitch” . You know she forgot the bread . but who the fuck reakly cares now bcause the girl is dead. crispy like fried rice on a cold sunday in japan. FUCK man. how the hell did this happen. Well w have to look at the parents and their drinking problems. they could care less about hemselves or anyone else for that matter. they only wanted to have bread in the house so that the little blakc, burned, crispy critter laying on the floor would have s o m e t h i n g to eat . but she dead now. they killed her. Waht a way to go out. Voluntary combustion in an old ass fire place.
So I said to him, like, this space ship has just landed in Cabot Circus?
And he was like, really? I’ve been feeling weird all day – kind of sick and bloated, you know?
And I was like, either you’re pregnant with an alien baby or they’re watching you specially, man. Like they KNOW the kinda stuff you’re into!
And he threw down his icecream, whipped out his phone and called the **** police!
I was only ragging him, how was I to know he couldn’t hack that kinda ****?
i love rags i can use them everyday they are so great i love them they make mne think of soap suds but if im talking about getting ragged on then thats not good i dont want to get ragged on thats mean i would just be so annoyed like shut up!
“your statement is a good argument against my own,except a leaky gasket does not run me ragged.a gas pump does not sexually excite me.Why?Because i can not feel tired or horny.you are the better machine.in fact,you are beyond machine.you are human.
i don’t even know, this makes me feel used, worn. it makes me want to click the retry button to fix all that has done, to make me this way. I don’t think anyone wants to be ragged. Society wants us to be new and shiny.
um… i don’t really know what ragged is but i’ll try. so the ragged is kind of a word that sounds very like scratches or something like that, um… ragged is like a scar in your face, or like… ah! ragged! ah! uh!: ragged!
Grandma does not remember much, but she digs through her ragged memories to retrieve those days when she was young and beautiful, when life seemed so full of hope.
The flood waters had receeded, the debris was now visible. Covered in brown silty dirt, you could see all sorts of cherished belongings. The ragged doll, once pristine, now just brown and sodden.
it can be two different things. 1:ragged can be a cliff. a sentence like… that cliff is really ragged.
2: or it can be cloth that is made of rags. a sentence like … he was a wearing ragged cloth.
Elena looked down at her ragged clothes. They were brown and torn along the seams. She looked at the people around her. Ragged. They all looked the same. All in sad, brown clothes, but with bright, happy faces that waited for their prince’s triumphant return.
They were ragged always, from the beginning, at least as far back as I remember, 1954 or thereabouts. But everything from then seems comfortably, even romantically, ragged. Just a soft sound from rugged. Think John Wayne. Or ragged. Think the scarecrow, Dorothy’s friend. Or Ann and Andy. Dungareed and ready for Saturday morning cartoons or a long afternoon out in the jungles of East Baltimore, where ferocious adventures could do no further harm to our already ragged existence.
Ragged ragged ragged. I can’t think of anything to write for this. I… My head aches really bad. Ragged. Ragged shirts, ragged hair, just like my ragged shoes. I actually like this word, but I don’t have anything to write for it. This is horrible. Ragged ragged ragged. I like this word, and it’s awesome. So yeah.
an old woman with teeth that are yellow and gross food in the middle she has a brown coat which has mud on the cuffs and dog hair stuck in the buttons she is half smiling and her hair is covering her sweating forehead
I think that it’s the same way he was breathing, the last time I saw him. When my lips were pressed against his neck, and his arms were around me, his fingers laced behind my back because we were in the lobby of a hotel, not a hotel room (that was taken up by my family, all asleep at two in the morning) and he was breathing hard, because he was tired, and I was teasing. I’d say I’m sorry, but my breathing was ragged too, and for much the same reason. I wanted him, wanted to say goodbye to him, wanted one last time with him, before I went away.
She had screamed to the city from the top of her building for hours now. Her voice, now ragged, couldn’t release anything more than a scratchy whisper. Why couldn’t anyone else see the glee radiating from her eyes with each word that left her lips, “Do you hear me world? I’m finally in love!”
The old man was lying by the train tracks. His side was set against them, and he was half curled up like he was sleeping, instead of being dead. He was curled away, and when I came by, the first thing I saw was his pack, set by his side like it was a guard dog, keeping watch. I came up to him, and I tapped his shoulder, but he rolled forward and didn’t say anything. He was dead. I took his pack. I figured he wouldn’t mind.
the ragged hobo walkin on the street
talkin to me sweet
why you gotta do tt?
get yourself some food man, so i give him a sammich say you like it?
i want….someone.
i want someone too, ragged man.
i want someone with long hair, but not you.
They want me to write of ragged again. Like raggedy ann, who doesn’t look ragged at all to me, she is far too neat and tidy, no dust or damage or drudgery in her pudgy red shoe feet. I believe she has red shoes, doesn’t she? Ragged has stuffing pouring out of the heel and a hand, covered with dog bites or cat scratches. That is ragged. Like me.
First try went like this:
I feel ragged today. This describes me. Tattered, shorn, not any exact nameable shape. Not even patchable. I don’t feel patchable at all. I feel tired and limp and hanging off the side of an old laundry basket. Not able to be tamed by convention. I write ragged. I sing ragged, I read ragged. I bug ragged. I seek ragged. I am ok with ragged.
she got ragged on by her boyfriend who really hated her but was dating her for some odd reason we dont know wh y so after getting ragged on by him rumors spread and her friends ragged on her too which really sucked because ths upset her she didnt like getting ragged on! it was so sad to see her so heart broken that she killed herself!! oh the horror never rag on someone because then when they die there ghosts will come back and haunt you!!
Her breathing is ragged as she runs down the street as fast as she can. She’s losing speed, she’s been at it for awhile, but it’s not enough. She can still see the dark figure behind her. He’s getting closer as her strength wanes, and her heart races thinking of what might happen when they meet. Adrenaline and pure fear gives her a small burst of speed, and she rounds a corner – only to find herself in a deserted, dead-end alley. Gasping for breath, she turns to face her fate.
My hat is pretty ragged. It’s also terribly dirty. I wonder if I’ve ever washed it. Looking at it now, I know I would never buy a hat like that these days. But, it was my first Baylor hat, and I still wear it every chance I get.
it’s a ragged edged hem on the old pair jeans that i can’t throw away. the frayed old pants remind me of a younger me when i could zip up my jeans with having to lay on my back on top of my bed; when my jeans made me look cute and not support a muffin top.
Ragged. I assume most people would think homeless, torn up, maybe even poor, sick or any other term some people deem unworthy of normal life. Well not me, I love homeless people, [most] have their morals in check, they aren’t swayed by how many possessions they have, and for the most part, if they don’t like you, you’re a legitimate dick. I also love the ‘poor’ lifestyle. Growing up I lived in a single story (Oh my god!) 3 bedroom, 1 bathroom house. Yeah, 1 bathroom. And you know what? I love that house. It was always so cozy and no matter how dirty it was, it was so inviting. Plus when you have nothing, you learn to live your life with what you have, and you develop and ACTUAL personality, and usually, and imagination. I give my childhood credit for my love in writing, and my imagination skills.
oh what a wonderful thing to be, ragged. It’s always just a shame to worry about punctuation and grammar, but that’s the world we live in today. Things are just too controlled, contrived and boring. Never have things been so ready and prepared, sometimes I just wish for chaos and obscurity, something totally bizarre and awesome to happen .
He’s ragged and rough and everything I shouldn’t want. Scarred and burnt and there’s something about his smile, something about it that’s verging on bad but stays on the side of good so I can’t really decide whether he’s good for me or not.
He’s torn around the edges, ragged and rough.
What I shouldn’t want.
there he is again. it never fails seeing this man sitting in the alley. his past filled of mistakes he wishes he could take back.
raggedy ann, andy, candy cane rag. I snag your ragged ass to the bone, and you shiver in excitement. Sometimes I come out ragged, and sometimes I rag myself up, but most times, the earth runs ragged through my veins.
The ragged dress lay disproportionally across her body. Parts of her stomach showed what none of her clothes had ever shown before. She felt dirt. Like a whore. But then again, she was one.
I already wrote a story about ragged and it was LAME!!!!!!!!! I hate it LOL LOL :) <3 I <3 My friends and Family!
DONE
They run me ragged in this place. But I like the feeling. Of being used. Of being wanted. Of being needed. And to top it all off, I run myself ragged on the weekends. I force my body to work in ways you couldn’t imagine.
Ragged, weary, hopeless, are just a few words I have for the thought of mankind. I hope we all can change. Soon, before it’s too late.
there was a ragged doll name suzy with ragged aedges and plaited red hair. she was ragged and old. and dry at night she was cold. suzy was a ragged doll with plaited red hair. her hair was raggedy because she was a ragged doll. suzy was owned by mary who collected ragged dolls. suzy loved mary and mary love her back.
it was torn, frazzled and beat to death by the weather. The holes made her arms hairs stand up on end as she tries despartley to rub the bumps out, more like push them into her skin from where they came. she made it home finally and into the coridore she went. Straight to the fire place where she felt the warmpth of home and a crackling fire that she suddenlt threw herself into and burned all her fleash off till she turned black as coal. her mom ust shrugged it off ans sayd aloud “stupid little bitch” . You know she forgot the bread . but who the fuck reakly cares now bcause the girl is dead. crispy like fried rice on a cold sunday in japan. FUCK man. how the hell did this happen. Well w have to look at the parents and their drinking problems. they could care less about hemselves or anyone else for that matter. they only wanted to have bread in the house so that the little blakc, burned, crispy critter laying on the floor would have s o m e t h i n g to eat . but she dead now. they killed her. Waht a way to go out. Voluntary combustion in an old ass fire place.
So I said to him, like, this space ship has just landed in Cabot Circus?
And he was like, really? I’ve been feeling weird all day – kind of sick and bloated, you know?
And I was like, either you’re pregnant with an alien baby or they’re watching you specially, man. Like they KNOW the kinda stuff you’re into!
And he threw down his icecream, whipped out his phone and called the **** police!
I was only ragging him, how was I to know he couldn’t hack that kinda ****?
i love rags i can use them everyday they are so great i love them they make mne think of soap suds but if im talking about getting ragged on then thats not good i dont want to get ragged on thats mean i would just be so annoyed like shut up!
“your statement is a good argument against my own,except a leaky gasket does not run me ragged.a gas pump does not sexually excite me.Why?Because i can not feel tired or horny.you are the better machine.in fact,you are beyond machine.you are human.
i don’t even know, this makes me feel used, worn. it makes me want to click the retry button to fix all that has done, to make me this way. I don’t think anyone wants to be ragged. Society wants us to be new and shiny.
um… i don’t really know what ragged is but i’ll try. so the ragged is kind of a word that sounds very like scratches or something like that, um… ragged is like a scar in your face, or like… ah! ragged! ah! uh!: ragged!
Grandma does not remember much, but she digs through her ragged memories to retrieve those days when she was young and beautiful, when life seemed so full of hope.
The flood waters had receeded, the debris was now visible. Covered in brown silty dirt, you could see all sorts of cherished belongings. The ragged doll, once pristine, now just brown and sodden.
it can be two different things. 1:ragged can be a cliff. a sentence like… that cliff is really ragged.
2: or it can be cloth that is made of rags. a sentence like … he was a wearing ragged cloth.
Elena looked down at her ragged clothes. They were brown and torn along the seams. She looked at the people around her. Ragged. They all looked the same. All in sad, brown clothes, but with bright, happy faces that waited for their prince’s triumphant return.
it can be two different things. 1:ragged can be a cliff.
2: or it can be cloth that is made of rags.
They were ragged always, from the beginning, at least as far back as I remember, 1954 or thereabouts. But everything from then seems comfortably, even romantically, ragged. Just a soft sound from rugged. Think John Wayne. Or ragged. Think the scarecrow, Dorothy’s friend. Or Ann and Andy. Dungareed and ready for Saturday morning cartoons or a long afternoon out in the jungles of East Baltimore, where ferocious adventures could do no further harm to our already ragged existence.
Ragged ragged ragged. I can’t think of anything to write for this. I… My head aches really bad. Ragged. Ragged shirts, ragged hair, just like my ragged shoes. I actually like this word, but I don’t have anything to write for it. This is horrible. Ragged ragged ragged. I like this word, and it’s awesome. So yeah.
an old woman with teeth that are yellow and gross food in the middle she has a brown coat which has mud on the cuffs and dog hair stuck in the buttons she is half smiling and her hair is covering her sweating forehead
I think that it’s the same way he was breathing, the last time I saw him. When my lips were pressed against his neck, and his arms were around me, his fingers laced behind my back because we were in the lobby of a hotel, not a hotel room (that was taken up by my family, all asleep at two in the morning) and he was breathing hard, because he was tired, and I was teasing. I’d say I’m sorry, but my breathing was ragged too, and for much the same reason. I wanted him, wanted to say goodbye to him, wanted one last time with him, before I went away.
ragged woods and torn jeans; set out to get clean, deep, out where the meadowlarks sing. they can only be heard where the word ragged is deemed.
She had screamed to the city from the top of her building for hours now. Her voice, now ragged, couldn’t release anything more than a scratchy whisper. Why couldn’t anyone else see the glee radiating from her eyes with each word that left her lips, “Do you hear me world? I’m finally in love!”
The old man was lying by the train tracks. His side was set against them, and he was half curled up like he was sleeping, instead of being dead. He was curled away, and when I came by, the first thing I saw was his pack, set by his side like it was a guard dog, keeping watch. I came up to him, and I tapped his shoulder, but he rolled forward and didn’t say anything. He was dead. I took his pack. I figured he wouldn’t mind.
the ragged hobo walkin on the street
talkin to me sweet
why you gotta do tt?
get yourself some food man, so i give him a sammich say you like it?
i want….someone.
i want someone too, ragged man.
i want someone with long hair, but not you.
They want me to write of ragged again. Like raggedy ann, who doesn’t look ragged at all to me, she is far too neat and tidy, no dust or damage or drudgery in her pudgy red shoe feet. I believe she has red shoes, doesn’t she? Ragged has stuffing pouring out of the heel and a hand, covered with dog bites or cat scratches. That is ragged. Like me.
First try went like this:
I feel ragged today. This describes me. Tattered, shorn, not any exact nameable shape. Not even patchable. I don’t feel patchable at all. I feel tired and limp and hanging off the side of an old laundry basket. Not able to be tamed by convention. I write ragged. I sing ragged, I read ragged. I bug ragged. I seek ragged. I am ok with ragged.
she got ragged on by her boyfriend who really hated her but was dating her for some odd reason we dont know wh y so after getting ragged on by him rumors spread and her friends ragged on her too which really sucked because ths upset her she didnt like getting ragged on! it was so sad to see her so heart broken that she killed herself!! oh the horror never rag on someone because then when they die there ghosts will come back and haunt you!!
The only image I can think of is ragged clothing. But I know that it’s a cliche, so I don’t want to write much about it.
the edges of my soul as you run
the pieces that are left as i fly away from what was
i feel so alone sometimes
i feel so ragged
Her breathing is ragged as she runs down the street as fast as she can. She’s losing speed, she’s been at it for awhile, but it’s not enough. She can still see the dark figure behind her. He’s getting closer as her strength wanes, and her heart races thinking of what might happen when they meet. Adrenaline and pure fear gives her a small burst of speed, and she rounds a corner – only to find herself in a deserted, dead-end alley. Gasping for breath, she turns to face her fate.
My hat is pretty ragged. It’s also terribly dirty. I wonder if I’ve ever washed it. Looking at it now, I know I would never buy a hat like that these days. But, it was my first Baylor hat, and I still wear it every chance I get.
it’s a ragged edged hem on the old pair jeans that i can’t throw away. the frayed old pants remind me of a younger me when i could zip up my jeans with having to lay on my back on top of my bed; when my jeans made me look cute and not support a muffin top.
Ragged. I assume most people would think homeless, torn up, maybe even poor, sick or any other term some people deem unworthy of normal life. Well not me, I love homeless people, [most] have their morals in check, they aren’t swayed by how many possessions they have, and for the most part, if they don’t like you, you’re a legitimate dick. I also love the ‘poor’ lifestyle. Growing up I lived in a single story (Oh my god!) 3 bedroom, 1 bathroom house. Yeah, 1 bathroom. And you know what? I love that house. It was always so cozy and no matter how dirty it was, it was so inviting. Plus when you have nothing, you learn to live your life with what you have, and you develop and ACTUAL personality, and usually, and imagination. I give my childhood credit for my love in writing, and my imagination skills.
DURTY, Unkempt, prostitutes, anne. LAWL. Sexxxx. Good hair.
oh what a wonderful thing to be, ragged. It’s always just a shame to worry about punctuation and grammar, but that’s the world we live in today. Things are just too controlled, contrived and boring. Never have things been so ready and prepared, sometimes I just wish for chaos and obscurity, something totally bizarre and awesome to happen .
why not another word or is it just one a day, one a day sucks.
round the rugged rock the ragged rascals ran – so!? – it’s what came to mind.
torn, broken, frail, welll-worn, used, loved, hurt, loser, breath, dying,