like andi….and anne….and me sometimes after a long day of work, or if the kids have worked my patience. its like the calm before the storm of becoming beautiful.
i’m trying to think of all the times that someone has looked at me and could have made the decision that this is how i looked. after a rough day at work? after a marathon? after my first day of teaching? before a big exam in college? maybe the better question, more reflective, that i should ask myself is when have i contributed to someone else looking this way?
my brothers have some ragges clothes. i think they need to be thrown away. some are really dirty too and old. it is really gross. they should get new clothes.
My thoughts broke into a million, limp pieces, like my heart did months ago. They were ragged, fragmented, and I knew that the process of re-stitching them, for the third time in my life, was going to be torturous–one by one, no matter how gingerly I treated them, the molecular pieces of history and memory would plaster themselves on my skin.
Follow my eye. Look where I look. See what I see. Across the horizon, to the sky. Around the bay. Here not a stitch unravels, not a shadow plays. But closer still, where I tread is tapestry . Watch the threads unravel. Feel my hand in yours and do not break my gaze. Then look again; stitch for stitch everything is ragged glory. Nothing is perfection.
Ragged.
Torn, thrown away, discarded like a water bottle in a river.
Gone with the wind, like a dirty paper towel used to wipe the grimy hands of a construction worker who doesn’t realize the trouble he will cause later.
The dress was ragged–it had been thrown in the wash with all my other clothes after my mother found it on the floor of my room. The one day that she decides to do my laundry is the one day that I have a freaking dress from a fairy tale in my room. Typical.
ragged, dirty, rotten, like a homeless mans clothes, like the homeless mans spirit. torn and broken. left for trash. forgotten. showing all the experiences he has had and holding all the memories he will soon forget,
rags, people who wear them are poor, and often homeless. Ragged is an adjective used to describe someone who looks like they have slept in a rubbish bin the previous night.
Chaos
That is what my life was. Sheer and utter chaos. I didn’t know who to turn to, where to go for help, who I could trust and who I could not trust at all. Now I know. Now I am but a ragged masterpiece.
Ragged makes me think of ripped up clothes on orphaned children, like from Oliver Twist. Ragged is a characteristic. It does not simply signify the poor in this context, but it is a way of showing who you are. Hard workers wear ragged clothing.
Around the ragged rocks the ragged rascal ran – a ridiculous tongue twister we were expected to perfect during elocution classes at school – so long ago now, and even thinking of it dates me. Don’t care – that’s how it is.
sometimes things just are. Or they are not, which is when they are smooth. But ragged is a nice way to be when you are done withy the complexities of everyday existence. For example, I hate to shave, so I do not. Very often. And my kids call me spikey when I kiss them goodnight. Ragged is good to let yourself go and get your hair down, yes I said get, not let……;o)
rag dolls
When I was little I tried to make a rag doll. Epic fail.
I never really liked them anyway. They are always so floppy and happy. Pfft.
Who needs ’em.
*kicks imaginary rag doll*
Ragged. Raggedy Ann Doll. Never owned one but love the idea of one. The thought of loving a precious toy so much that it gets all worn and raggedy from being hugged so much!
Our lives have become ragged and ribboned, no longer woven. Baby, did you forget to take your meds? Baby, would you stop listening to Placebo? We argue amicably and tear ourselves to tatters.
I had a ragged t-shirt. I got it when I was seven. One day I was a the playground eating apples, and drinking orange juice when suddenly a big fat ugly monster came up to me and started beating me up. I tried to run away, but with no luck. So instead, I punched him in the nuts and pissed all over him. He got up and made my shirt ragged. What a lovely story.
It’s a little funny that this is today’s word. I’m definitely feeling ragged. But hey, I’ve got a big cup of coffee and I good tune to listen to. I’m feeling ragged, but it’s going to be a good day anyway.
Ragged run the rocks around the house and under it is sand – the house is build on sand and rocks with round pinnacles growing like branches and windows of sealight . all runs ragged with time like rocks and sand.
The boy in the ragged clothes stood on the corner, observing the crowd of people going back and forth. He wanted to shout, tell them to stop, look around.
It was a long, busy night for everyone who worked at the restaurant. Eddie looked the worst, after serving that table of twelve, all of whom had different orders. One insisted on burnt pizza, the other wanting a ham sandwich, light on the mayo, but with thinly sliced bread. Seven people wanted bread sticks and screamed when they didn’t get them. Eddie had grumbled all night that if they had come to Osaka House, they should have at least known what sushi is. When they paid their bill, they left a tip of a single, ragged dollar. Full of bilious rage as he walked through the alleyway toward the subway, Eddie stomped furiously on a cockroach.
I’m a ragged ass mo-fo, yeah, real bad to the bone. Ain’t nobody tell me what to do. Ain’t nobody got the guts to. I’m hard core. You can’t break me, mould me or shape me, but I sure could do with a new pair of jeans, cos these ones a fraying up over my knees.
i never want to be in a ragged position or own any ragged clothes. i have worked hard and will continue to do so. i hope to god i wont have a day where i will be wearing any ragged clothes.
It was an early Sunday evening and the moon had just opened its eyes to look into the night. The moonlight did little to disguise the wearinss of the streets below. Even the roads looked ragged, as if the ground had been stomped on too many times leaving the granite bruised and battered.
She was getting to the point where she was being ran ragged. Between being a single mother with no help from any one, remaining class president, cheer captain, and valedictorian it was almost too much for her to handle. But she knew that if she gave up now it would only prove her mother right and that was the last thing that she wanted to do. So she just kept her head up and continued on like the strong independent woman she knew she was. She had to give her kid something to look up to. She knew that getting pregnant at such a young age was dumb but she also knew that she didn’t regret it in any way and any one who told her to just give up was wrong she wanted them to know how wrong they were.
The old jacket was frayed at the sleeves and along the hemline as if it had seen an eternity of wear. The owner was himself ragged, worn out from a lifetime of too much to be done and too few successes.
His polished shoe and greeting did nothing for her. After the evening she had just passed, with her dreams cracked open and bleeding like a hemophiliac’s last ditch effort at normalcy, she would have liked to see him looking just a little ragged.
You’re going to be eighteen years old sweetheart, don’t you think it’s time to throw that ragged, old blanket out?
Here I am again, ragged as can be, year after year. My soul is starting the slow, quiet healing process for the millionth time. I want to go away….
like andi….and anne….and me sometimes after a long day of work, or if the kids have worked my patience. its like the calm before the storm of becoming beautiful.
i’m trying to think of all the times that someone has looked at me and could have made the decision that this is how i looked. after a rough day at work? after a marathon? after my first day of teaching? before a big exam in college? maybe the better question, more reflective, that i should ask myself is when have i contributed to someone else looking this way?
Ragged makes me think of old clothes, or shoes or something like that. When i think of ragged i think of an old dog or something.
people look ragged all over the world. it can be a shocking sight to see.
my brothers have some ragges clothes. i think they need to be thrown away. some are really dirty too and old. it is really gross. they should get new clothes.
A ragged cuff at the end of a long thin bony arm protruded from the shadows under the bridge. The pavement was wet shining from the recent rainstorm
My thoughts broke into a million, limp pieces, like my heart did months ago. They were ragged, fragmented, and I knew that the process of re-stitching them, for the third time in my life, was going to be torturous–one by one, no matter how gingerly I treated them, the molecular pieces of history and memory would plaster themselves on my skin.
Her breath came in ragged gasps. She choked and coughed, and began to get her breathing under control.
It didn’t feel anything like drowning.
Follow my eye. Look where I look. See what I see. Across the horizon, to the sky. Around the bay. Here not a stitch unravels, not a shadow plays. But closer still, where I tread is tapestry . Watch the threads unravel. Feel my hand in yours and do not break my gaze. Then look again; stitch for stitch everything is ragged glory. Nothing is perfection.
Ragged.
Torn, thrown away, discarded like a water bottle in a river.
Gone with the wind, like a dirty paper towel used to wipe the grimy hands of a construction worker who doesn’t realize the trouble he will cause later.
The dress was ragged–it had been thrown in the wash with all my other clothes after my mother found it on the floor of my room. The one day that she decides to do my laundry is the one day that I have a freaking dress from a fairy tale in my room. Typical.
ragged, dirty, rotten, like a homeless mans clothes, like the homeless mans spirit. torn and broken. left for trash. forgotten. showing all the experiences he has had and holding all the memories he will soon forget,
tattered torm reched
tatterd, destroyed
rags, people who wear them are poor, and often homeless. Ragged is an adjective used to describe someone who looks like they have slept in a rubbish bin the previous night.
Chaos
That is what my life was. Sheer and utter chaos. I didn’t know who to turn to, where to go for help, who I could trust and who I could not trust at all. Now I know. Now I am but a ragged masterpiece.
Ragged – a minute isn’t as lkong as I thought. Ragged with pain and hunger I finish my day. And then prepare the lessons for tomo
Ragged makes me think of ripped up clothes on orphaned children, like from Oliver Twist. Ragged is a characteristic. It does not simply signify the poor in this context, but it is a way of showing who you are. Hard workers wear ragged clothing.
Around the ragged rocks the ragged rascal ran – a ridiculous tongue twister we were expected to perfect during elocution classes at school – so long ago now, and even thinking of it dates me. Don’t care – that’s how it is.
age
dare
red
dear
rag
gear
dag
gard
egg
grade
An accurate description
sometimes things just are. Or they are not, which is when they are smooth. But ragged is a nice way to be when you are done withy the complexities of everyday existence. For example, I hate to shave, so I do not. Very often. And my kids call me spikey when I kiss them goodnight. Ragged is good to let yourself go and get your hair down, yes I said get, not let……;o)
rag dolls
When I was little I tried to make a rag doll. Epic fail.
I never really liked them anyway. They are always so floppy and happy. Pfft.
Who needs ’em.
*kicks imaginary rag doll*
Ragged. Raggedy Ann Doll. Never owned one but love the idea of one. The thought of loving a precious toy so much that it gets all worn and raggedy from being hugged so much!
Our lives have become ragged and ribboned, no longer woven. Baby, did you forget to take your meds? Baby, would you stop listening to Placebo? We argue amicably and tear ourselves to tatters.
I had a ragged t-shirt. I got it when I was seven. One day I was a the playground eating apples, and drinking orange juice when suddenly a big fat ugly monster came up to me and started beating me up. I tried to run away, but with no luck. So instead, I punched him in the nuts and pissed all over him. He got up and made my shirt ragged. What a lovely story.
It’s a little funny that this is today’s word. I’m definitely feeling ragged. But hey, I’ve got a big cup of coffee and I good tune to listen to. I’m feeling ragged, but it’s going to be a good day anyway.
Ragged run the rocks around the house and under it is sand – the house is build on sand and rocks with round pinnacles growing like branches and windows of sealight . all runs ragged with time like rocks and sand.
old clothing
rags
dirty
thick in dirt
cloth
fabric
cotton
material
silk
soft
strong
weak
rough
wear and tear
holes
The boy in the ragged clothes stood on the corner, observing the crowd of people going back and forth. He wanted to shout, tell them to stop, look around.
It was a long, busy night for everyone who worked at the restaurant. Eddie looked the worst, after serving that table of twelve, all of whom had different orders. One insisted on burnt pizza, the other wanting a ham sandwich, light on the mayo, but with thinly sliced bread. Seven people wanted bread sticks and screamed when they didn’t get them. Eddie had grumbled all night that if they had come to Osaka House, they should have at least known what sushi is. When they paid their bill, they left a tip of a single, ragged dollar. Full of bilious rage as he walked through the alleyway toward the subway, Eddie stomped furiously on a cockroach.
I’m a ragged ass mo-fo, yeah, real bad to the bone. Ain’t nobody tell me what to do. Ain’t nobody got the guts to. I’m hard core. You can’t break me, mould me or shape me, but I sure could do with a new pair of jeans, cos these ones a fraying up over my knees.
i never want to be in a ragged position or own any ragged clothes. i have worked hard and will continue to do so. i hope to god i wont have a day where i will be wearing any ragged clothes.
It was an early Sunday evening and the moon had just opened its eyes to look into the night. The moonlight did little to disguise the wearinss of the streets below. Even the roads looked ragged, as if the ground had been stomped on too many times leaving the granite bruised and battered.
She was getting to the point where she was being ran ragged. Between being a single mother with no help from any one, remaining class president, cheer captain, and valedictorian it was almost too much for her to handle. But she knew that if she gave up now it would only prove her mother right and that was the last thing that she wanted to do. So she just kept her head up and continued on like the strong independent woman she knew she was. She had to give her kid something to look up to. She knew that getting pregnant at such a young age was dumb but she also knew that she didn’t regret it in any way and any one who told her to just give up was wrong she wanted them to know how wrong they were.
The old jacket was frayed at the sleeves and along the hemline as if it had seen an eternity of wear. The owner was himself ragged, worn out from a lifetime of too much to be done and too few successes.
The man in ragged clothes stood silently, somewhat forlorn, waiting for the bus to arrive.
Suddenly a small girl pulled his coat to get his attention.
His polished shoe and greeting did nothing for her. After the evening she had just passed, with her dreams cracked open and bleeding like a hemophiliac’s last ditch effort at normalcy, she would have liked to see him looking just a little ragged.