It was mid september and it was finally the time that I had made up my mind. It was perfect, the sky was dark & the rain would distract any noise I made while escaping through the window. I couldn’t take it anymore. There was more for me out there. I needed to get away. I knew I could now reach my potential.
The plane is on the runway. The engines are roaring. I feel some movement. Now we are racing down the runway. I feel the plane lift. Up, up, up we go. We’re on our way! Yippee!
He’s never been a runaway, not properly, anyway. No, in his mind, he’s always been running to something. To be a runaway, you have to be running from something, right? No, the escape was just a side effect of running for home.
She walks, she smiles, she turns, she walks.
They stare her down, critiquing her every move, the outfit that is draped over her body, the way that, as she waltzes down the catwalk, her right foot steps a little too much faster than the left. She does this three times, endures their stares and smirks.
And when she gets home, she cries.
It was dark when she walked out onto the runway. she didn’t know where the end was, exactly, but she knew she had to get there. A photographer would be waiting there, thing photos of her couture. After all, she didn’t walk down the runway, the dress did.
It was a runaway grocery cart in the mini-mall parking lot. Cars and trucks and little bugs were slamming on the brakes and shaking their fist in anger. The poor man who lost control of the cart vanished. Where did he go? the onlookers wondered. Without him, the cart continued to swivel through the cluttered lot with no driver.
It was so much easier to just walk away from him rather face what I feared the most. Love. I was never taught how to truly love someone. All I have ever known was hate. My parents showed love towards me and my siblings but never towards each other. If they did, it was a very rare occasion and it was really awkward to witness; it was one of those moments that made you do a double take or wonder what was wrong. It makes me sick to my stomach. Why did I have to let him go. He made me feel like nobody else ever made me feel; he looked at me like nobody else had ever looked at me. I know I will never feel that way ever again. I’m sure it’s for the best. I was no good for him. Or anybody for that matter. I just make them cry, turn around and strut my stuff. Even if I hurt inside, I can’t cry and I will never be able to make it right again.
Jerrie smiled, tossed the scarf around her shoulder and strutted out across the runway to Tweety Bird, her new plane. This was going to be fun. Her first solo flight. The next step toward making it around the world.
You came down the runway to me and I smiled, reached out my hand to touch yours, before I realized you weren’t smiling…
And then I frowned, drew my hand away, but you were looking at me with that regal hauteur you always have, and I couldn’t stop myself from shaking my head at you in that manner you always hated, and turning away.
“Where are you going?” you asked me,
“Somewhere less distasteful.” I replied, and then you jumped down, not caring at all about those clothes, and stopped me.
My friend Bri loves Project Runway. While I have not watched an incredible amount of episodes of this show, I do have to agree that Tyra is hilarious and fierce and wonderful and stuff. I can’t really type anything super coherent right now because I’m really tired and kind of upset I’ve had a bit of a rough day but I’m trying to get back into doing this so anyway, yeah, Project Runway is cool.
Runaway, runaway.
From all of your problems.
From all of your fears.
From all of your difficulties in life.
From all of the evils you know.
Runaway from the world.
She was walking down the runway like a firecracker let loose on a starry night. Dressed in a bright red glimmering dress that trailed at the back, she left a trail of heat and excitement after her, and all of the eyes in the crowd were drawn to her, as if she were real.
If I were a model, my life would revolve only around me. As it is I think I need to remind myself that I’m NOT a model, my world should include caring about more people’s needs and giving more to my friends and my community… Lately it seems like it’s been about just Julia and that is hardly normal.
I am walking down the runway of life. Their eyes judge me, every detail. No matter what I do or how hard I try it never seems to be enough.Theirs always another critic, always another dig.
Touchdown on the runway. Back here. Again.
I’m so lost, even though I know exactly where I am.
This place holds so many wonders.
So many people.
So many pains.
I’m so lost, even though I know exactly where I am.
Strutting down the runway, I think of how badly I wanted this. The flashing lights, the stunning fashions. Then I remember the hunger, the fear of going under the knife.
Then I remember: I’m wanted. People wanted me. I’m…perfect.
A runway is where airplanes take off from at the airport.
It is also where fashion models model at fashion shows.
I wonder why they’re called the same thing? Is it because people think that fashion models are airplanes? Or is it a metaphor — these models are so “high”, as in “out of your league”? I wonder if anyone has ever thought of this before…
She never expected to get her start walking. Not in a million years…
The running away part had been easy, but to continue running had been tough. Real tough! There’s nothing like being able to call a thin diet a new a diet! She smiled not with confidence, but elation. They are watching me fly
there was no other word for it other than a “strut,” she thought with her face cradled in her hands and cheeks aflame. her best friend, her best man–he was STRUTTING down the runway in obscene designer pants and a ridiculous shirt with damn legitimate cleavage that did nothing to hide his toned body.
“why,” she whispered to herself as she looked away from the stage. “why must we be friends.”
The runway is as dark as the night sky. The planes land and take off in a tired, everyday fashion, as if they have no idea how much more important this day is than any other. This is the day Tammie and I wil finally be leaving; finally getting out of here. From now on, we’ be known as law-breakers, rebellious teens, runaways. But none of that matters, the only thing that matters now is they won’t be splitting us up now that our parents our dead. We’re twins, for goodness’ sake, you can’t split up twins! So we’re running away now, and it all depends on if we can make it off this normal, average runway.
She strutted down the runway in a tight fitting dress, smiling for the cameras and winking at the boys. She looked glamorous and happy and lovely. The runway was her channel, the channel where her beauty passed to the world.
But deep inside of her was insecurity.
The runway was crowded with people. Tall, short, young, old. They were protesting for what they believed and they would give anything they had to help their united dream come true. It wasn’t right, what was going to happen. The people knew that, and they would fight till the end for the right thing to be done, And fight they did.
i want to runaway from all the sorrow and all the pain i want to get away from here i want to just leave i dont want to be here anymore i want to have fun and enjoy life not sit here and feel pain
lights studding an expansive length of the landscape……winged creatures of metal slide along the inky backdrop of mountain peaks’ silhouettes and sky. Reaching view lifting above the horizon to view a light studded sky….some moving and most STILL.
the looks pierced through the thin fabric. flash flash turn look at me world. i walk tall and strong, my face pulled tight, the smirk on my face fake as can be. The dress flows in the breeze as i turn. the heels click on the floor, my feet unsteady. keep it keep it big steps just go. i turn the corner, and its over. until next season…
Sometimes it seems like the best idea in the world! Like anywhere could be better than the place you’re stuck in…..Although when you think of doing it you can’t help but wonder how they would feel if you weren’t around. Would they miss me? Ask why I did what I did? Question my actions? Or would they be relieved that I’m not around anymore, not being a hastle, not getting underfoot when everyone wants to be doing stuff that doesn’t involve me.
Sometimes being a runaway seems like the best idea in the world…but I couldn’t do it….could you?
The Runway was the most scariest man in the world. Why? He had the worst clothes EVER. They were ugly and stank. NO sense of fashion and no colors. Just plain, black and white.
Maybe it wasn’t as simple as walking out the door and never looking back. Maybe it was a little harder. She kicked the wall and tried not to cry. The colors of graffiti blurred together as she did anyway. Stupid. Stupid Mom. Stupid Cops. Stupid Dan. They were all stupid. She’d be fine by herself. Maybe it wasn’t simple, but she’d make it that way.
The Runway was the show of the year. It blew out people’s minds and surprised the rest. The Runway was made in space and people go to space to watch the Runway.
Carefully he watched both sides of the tracks. Nothing for miles on either side. Perfect. The echo of his feet resounded through the rails as he plodded on.
It was mid september and it was finally the time that I had made up my mind. It was perfect, the sky was dark & the rain would distract any noise I made while escaping through the window. I couldn’t take it anymore. There was more for me out there. I needed to get away. I knew I could now reach my potential.
The plane follows the runway, but then leaves it behind and goes somewhere far away. A different world awaits.
A path, taking off, leading to infinity
Where do you go? What are the possibilities?
The freedom of open air
The freshness of new journeys.
The plane is on the runway. The engines are roaring. I feel some movement. Now we are racing down the runway. I feel the plane lift. Up, up, up we go. We’re on our way! Yippee!
He’s never been a runaway, not properly, anyway. No, in his mind, he’s always been running to something. To be a runaway, you have to be running from something, right? No, the escape was just a side effect of running for home.
She walks, she smiles, she turns, she walks.
They stare her down, critiquing her every move, the outfit that is draped over her body, the way that, as she waltzes down the catwalk, her right foot steps a little too much faster than the left. She does this three times, endures their stares and smirks.
And when she gets home, she cries.
It was dark when she walked out onto the runway. she didn’t know where the end was, exactly, but she knew she had to get there. A photographer would be waiting there, thing photos of her couture. After all, she didn’t walk down the runway, the dress did.
It was a runaway grocery cart in the mini-mall parking lot. Cars and trucks and little bugs were slamming on the brakes and shaking their fist in anger. The poor man who lost control of the cart vanished. Where did he go? the onlookers wondered. Without him, the cart continued to swivel through the cluttered lot with no driver.
It was so much easier to just walk away from him rather face what I feared the most. Love. I was never taught how to truly love someone. All I have ever known was hate. My parents showed love towards me and my siblings but never towards each other. If they did, it was a very rare occasion and it was really awkward to witness; it was one of those moments that made you do a double take or wonder what was wrong. It makes me sick to my stomach. Why did I have to let him go. He made me feel like nobody else ever made me feel; he looked at me like nobody else had ever looked at me. I know I will never feel that way ever again. I’m sure it’s for the best. I was no good for him. Or anybody for that matter. I just make them cry, turn around and strut my stuff. Even if I hurt inside, I can’t cry and I will never be able to make it right again.
Jerrie smiled, tossed the scarf around her shoulder and strutted out across the runway to Tweety Bird, her new plane. This was going to be fun. Her first solo flight. The next step toward making it around the world.
You came down the runway to me and I smiled, reached out my hand to touch yours, before I realized you weren’t smiling…
And then I frowned, drew my hand away, but you were looking at me with that regal hauteur you always have, and I couldn’t stop myself from shaking my head at you in that manner you always hated, and turning away.
“Where are you going?” you asked me,
“Somewhere less distasteful.” I replied, and then you jumped down, not caring at all about those clothes, and stopped me.
My friend Bri loves Project Runway. While I have not watched an incredible amount of episodes of this show, I do have to agree that Tyra is hilarious and fierce and wonderful and stuff. I can’t really type anything super coherent right now because I’m really tired and kind of upset I’ve had a bit of a rough day but I’m trying to get back into doing this so anyway, yeah, Project Runway is cool.
Runaway, runaway.
From all of your problems.
From all of your fears.
From all of your difficulties in life.
From all of the evils you know.
Runaway from the world.
She was walking down the runway like a firecracker let loose on a starry night. Dressed in a bright red glimmering dress that trailed at the back, she left a trail of heat and excitement after her, and all of the eyes in the crowd were drawn to her, as if she were real.
I took the toy plane and flew it down the “runway.” The kids weren’t interested in anything!
If I were a model, my life would revolve only around me. As it is I think I need to remind myself that I’m NOT a model, my world should include caring about more people’s needs and giving more to my friends and my community… Lately it seems like it’s been about just Julia and that is hardly normal.
I am walking down the runway of life. Their eyes judge me, every detail. No matter what I do or how hard I try it never seems to be enough.Theirs always another critic, always another dig.
Touchdown on the runway. Back here. Again.
I’m so lost, even though I know exactly where I am.
This place holds so many wonders.
So many people.
So many pains.
I’m so lost, even though I know exactly where I am.
Strutting down the runway, I think of how badly I wanted this. The flashing lights, the stunning fashions. Then I remember the hunger, the fear of going under the knife.
Then I remember: I’m wanted. People wanted me. I’m…perfect.
A runway is where airplanes take off from at the airport.
It is also where fashion models model at fashion shows.
I wonder why they’re called the same thing? Is it because people think that fashion models are airplanes? Or is it a metaphor — these models are so “high”, as in “out of your league”? I wonder if anyone has ever thought of this before…
She never expected to get her start walking. Not in a million years…
The running away part had been easy, but to continue running had been tough. Real tough! There’s nothing like being able to call a thin diet a new a diet! She smiled not with confidence, but elation. They are watching me fly
The runway was empty, lines of lights guiding the tarmac towards mission control. The plane descends.
there was no other word for it other than a “strut,” she thought with her face cradled in her hands and cheeks aflame. her best friend, her best man–he was STRUTTING down the runway in obscene designer pants and a ridiculous shirt with damn legitimate cleavage that did nothing to hide his toned body.
“why,” she whispered to herself as she looked away from the stage. “why must we be friends.”
The runway is as dark as the night sky. The planes land and take off in a tired, everyday fashion, as if they have no idea how much more important this day is than any other. This is the day Tammie and I wil finally be leaving; finally getting out of here. From now on, we’ be known as law-breakers, rebellious teens, runaways. But none of that matters, the only thing that matters now is they won’t be splitting us up now that our parents our dead. We’re twins, for goodness’ sake, you can’t split up twins! So we’re running away now, and it all depends on if we can make it off this normal, average runway.
P.S. Am I doing this right?
She strutted down the runway in a tight fitting dress, smiling for the cameras and winking at the boys. She looked glamorous and happy and lovely. The runway was her channel, the channel where her beauty passed to the world.
But deep inside of her was insecurity.
The runway was crowded with people. Tall, short, young, old. They were protesting for what they believed and they would give anything they had to help their united dream come true. It wasn’t right, what was going to happen. The people knew that, and they would fight till the end for the right thing to be done, And fight they did.
I think it’s best to runaway
from this awful town.
I might even leave today
so far, it’s only let me down.
Places to see,
People to be.
Eventually,
I’ll figure out which is meant
to be me.
i want to runaway from all the sorrow and all the pain i want to get away from here i want to just leave i dont want to be here anymore i want to have fun and enjoy life not sit here and feel pain
lights studding an expansive length of the landscape……winged creatures of metal slide along the inky backdrop of mountain peaks’ silhouettes and sky. Reaching view lifting above the horizon to view a light studded sky….some moving and most STILL.
the looks pierced through the thin fabric. flash flash turn look at me world. i walk tall and strong, my face pulled tight, the smirk on my face fake as can be. The dress flows in the breeze as i turn. the heels click on the floor, my feet unsteady. keep it keep it big steps just go. i turn the corner, and its over. until next season…
I watched a small painting of a Bach
Tone down to a quiver
shiver to a similar side
the one above my bed
tassels along the wishing level
Runways are for planes. Sometimes there are runaway planes. Similar spelling, very different meaning. I hear a plane flying overhead right now.
Sometimes it seems like the best idea in the world! Like anywhere could be better than the place you’re stuck in…..Although when you think of doing it you can’t help but wonder how they would feel if you weren’t around. Would they miss me? Ask why I did what I did? Question my actions? Or would they be relieved that I’m not around anymore, not being a hastle, not getting underfoot when everyone wants to be doing stuff that doesn’t involve me.
Sometimes being a runaway seems like the best idea in the world…but I couldn’t do it….could you?
she struts
as if
anorexia
could never fit
within the width
of the world.
a model
means to showcase
a middle class existence
and strict father figures
that sank their skinny
sins deep enough within
Don’t trip, don’t trip, turn, pose, don’t trip.
The Runway was the most scariest man in the world. Why? He had the worst clothes EVER. They were ugly and stank. NO sense of fashion and no colors. Just plain, black and white.
Maybe it wasn’t as simple as walking out the door and never looking back. Maybe it was a little harder. She kicked the wall and tried not to cry. The colors of graffiti blurred together as she did anyway. Stupid. Stupid Mom. Stupid Cops. Stupid Dan. They were all stupid. She’d be fine by herself. Maybe it wasn’t simple, but she’d make it that way.
you moved across the runway and a lump appeared in my throat. you took my heart out with you, and i haven’t gotten it back since.
The Runway was the show of the year. It blew out people’s minds and surprised the rest. The Runway was made in space and people go to space to watch the Runway.
Carefully he watched both sides of the tracks. Nothing for miles on either side. Perfect. The echo of his feet resounded through the rails as he plodded on.