i rest my head on your shoulder.
you look at me baffled at my sudden show of affection.
you have tried repeatedly to brake down my walls with no success.
but after my heart and its shattering.
i realized it was you all along who can help me.
Upon my back lays it under the head for support. rub rub rub massage the gentle curves. Hold atop thine clothes with magestic ush, attach arms of great lengths with the feel of them.
He shoves his shoulder against the door as he twists the knob, trying to push it open. It takes a moment, but finally it slowly swings inward a few with a rusty screech of protest. he squeezes through the crack, and finds himself in a dark room
I stared at his shoulder. It was muscular and masculine, and i desired him more than ever. He saw me looking at him and smiled, so I blushed. Because he would never be mine.
i leaned my head on his shoulder and thought about how comfortable it was and how i always wanted to stay there. he rubbed my back and kissed my forehead and we rested there in our state of perpetual comfort. my head on his shoulder. his shoulder supporting me. why had it taken me so long to reach this happiness. but now that i had it was worth it.
I was sitting down when he landed in my shoulder. Then started whispering in my ear. Weird things. Things that I would never do. Amazing things. I stood up.
To shoulder so much emotion in a time of grave ailment in order to preserve a small semblance of normalcy is quite a feat. One to be revered. For those you have not lost you will find out some day what that kind of strength is. To shoulder.
Shoulder. Arm. Elbow. Arm. Hand. Fingers. Nails. His body is perfect. All of him. Sitting on a park bench next to him, looking at the prickly goose bumped arm hair, his sweatshirt is on me. He’s cold. I feel guilty but I’m not willing to give it up just yet.
You place your shoulder up against mine
The jolt of electricity indeed is fine
I love the feeling of your skin
It is a delightful pleasurable sin
As you place your shoulder up against mine
Our fingers interlock and our hands entwine
All I could see was her shoulder as she turned, and I immediately knew what it meant; she was finished, she was walking away from me. She didn’t even say goodbye.
“It’s a waste of time lookin’ over your shoulder, Buck,” Pop said. “You already know there’s a herd of folk behind you, better’n you at what you do, just waitin’ to pound you under their hooves, another competitor bites the dust. Speed’s the key Son, which you got, and cleverness, which you don’t, but long as you’re out there smilin’ ahead of the pack, you’ll seal the deal and no one’ll know they got took till the herd come through, and then, chances are folk’ll just be plain confounded by all the blather and tell’em to get the hell outta town.”
My shoulder tends to hurt when I run. I often wish I had somebody who would lean on it, but as of late there isn’t much. Shoulder blades are weird. Ya.
“Oof!” a pain shot through John’s bad shoulder, and he was sent crashing to the floor, flat on his face. His walking stick clattered to the floor in front of him. At first, he didn’t think the person who’d knocked him over was going to help him up, but he was mistaken.
“Forgive me… I didn’t see you, I was quite consumed in my thoughts.” came a smooth baritone voice, as a strong, but slender hand helped him up. “Did I hit your bad shoulder? I’m Sherlock, by the way…”
“John… And how did you know?”
The mysterious Sherlock simply handed John his walking stick, and left, leaving John with only a wink, before he disappeared into the crowd.
The claw was buried deep – very deep – into my shoulder, edging toward my clavicle. There was no finger attached to it. No implication of a talon. A paw. A mutant hand capable of boasting scales or fur. And of course, it hurt very much.
I took considerable time removing the claw, and when it had finally let go out of my flesh, it made a soggy noise and slumped in my palm. I examined the clotted object and wondered who, or what, had wanted to kill me in the first place.
right now, the way I am typing.. my shoulder feels as if it will pop off. Soon enough, these words will stop and I will no longer be able to type in fear of popping my shoulder in half. The pain is increasing now
Shiny with a new glistening tan, Marissa’s shoulder was just the top of the gorgeous body that Robert loved. It wasn’t her body that fascinated him most but her unending brilliance, simple beauty, and charismatic laugh that made his heart melt.
On my shoulder there is a litle monkey. I think, in reality, he has always been there. Watching me. Judging me. Deciding when I would be ready to meet him. But now he’s here. He grew in my belly, came out of me on a table, and nursed at my teet. Now, he’s back on my shoulder. Learning. Taking it all in. Following.
I lean on your shoulder, you tell me that’s everything is going to be alright and not to worry. I hear the sincerity in your voice but I can’t stop thinking about hows it actually going to turn out. I smile and close my eyes. Someday I
A shoulder is something to lean on. A limb of the body. It’s something to cry on. Both tears of joy and pain. It helps you move around and helps you get things done. A shoulder is a valuable thing. You can do many things with a shoulder.
he is a man with wide shoudlers and she is a girl with thin shoulders. they’re not lovers nor friends, just two strangers. and when they met their shoulders touch and he glanced at her for a short while and he thought..
Shoulder. Broad shoulders, thin shoulders, drooping shoulders, slumped shoulders, and strong shoulders. Every shoulder tells a story. The broad one that has yet to encounter its purpose and its burden. The thin and frail shoulder that has either refused to carry its burden or has grown thin and frail by the load life allotted to it, and now the strength it felt is only a distant memory. The drooping shoulder that simply cannot bear the weight anymore. The slumped shoulder that is lazy and relaxed. And the strong shoulder. The one that is currently taking on its own burden and helping another carry theirs.
I am always a shoulder to lean on, but sometimes I need a shoulder to lean on. My shoulder gets tired and I need a place to rest. When I do lean on another’s shoulder, I worry about their shoulder getting tired as well and then I want them to lean on my shoulder again
she was looking to his shoulders, thinking: “i could be there, just one time”. She just look. Never touch. Never said anything. The distance and the silence making everything more demanding.
He had the grunt’s body. The barrel chest that came from doing more pushups than a balanced workout would allow for. The thick legs of a man who made his living carrying a backbreaking load up mountains, through the desert, to the horizon and back.
She rest her head into his shoulder and hug him strongly. They could have been like that either 60 seconds or a whole life. They had discovered how to stop the time.
who are you
i lost the count of all the hours
we’ve been hiding far too long
the stormwind still blows
you held the world on your shoulder
when i was too weak
now i’m the one
carrying the lifeless you
on my hunched shoulders
I guess I’m showing my age when I would like to see a little more shoulder and a little less cleavage. I can’t think of anything more seductive than the tease of an off the shoulder style, ruffled in a peasant blouse or a bright gypsy dress, nor anything more elegant than a Grecian-styled one-shoulder gown.
I like today’s tight jeans and sexy heels, and a bit of bare midriff below a tailored blouse and a trim waistband is flirtatious without exposing too much above nor too much below the waistband.
However, baring the entire shoulder down to the maximum skin permissible outside a topless beach is neither seductive, elegant, nor flirtatious. It is attention seeking in the most obvious way. I am obviously not of the “if you’ve got it, flaunt it!” school of thought.
And, since when are bra straps showing outside tank and T-tops appealing? I admit that my fashion icon is Audrey Hepburn, and First Lady Michelle Obama has offered a classy fashion endorsement to bare arms and elegantly exposed shoulders. Let’s have more of “Less is More” fashion tends, and leave vulgarity unsold in the stores!
His shirt is damp from my tears and I burrow my head in his shoulder. I don’t want this moment to end. I breathe in the sweet smell of his body and sniffle. He brushes the hair out of my face and I sob.
Ah, how I love putting my head on someone’s shoulders. It makes me feel safe and most importantly, happy. :)
i rest my head on your shoulder.
you look at me baffled at my sudden show of affection.
you have tried repeatedly to brake down my walls with no success.
but after my heart and its shattering.
i realized it was you all along who can help me.
And trapped shoulder to shoulder, we still managed to ignore each others’ thoughts and feelings, even colder than before, none the less alone.
But for some reason, we were ok with that.
Upon my back lays it under the head for support. rub rub rub massage the gentle curves. Hold atop thine clothes with magestic ush, attach arms of great lengths with the feel of them.
Hmmm. Tommy Johns, Baseball. Playing catch with Dad in the backyard.
Mom and a shoulder to cry on. Friends that do the same. Now my wife where would we be without one another.
Pork. I love pulled pork.
Responsibility. Could I be doing more???
Why am I writting write now instead of working?
Shoulder
He shoves his shoulder against the door as he twists the knob, trying to push it open. It takes a moment, but finally it slowly swings inward a few with a rusty screech of protest. he squeezes through the crack, and finds himself in a dark room
I stared at his shoulder. It was muscular and masculine, and i desired him more than ever. He saw me looking at him and smiled, so I blushed. Because he would never be mine.
i leaned my head on his shoulder and thought about how comfortable it was and how i always wanted to stay there. he rubbed my back and kissed my forehead and we rested there in our state of perpetual comfort. my head on his shoulder. his shoulder supporting me. why had it taken me so long to reach this happiness. but now that i had it was worth it.
I was sitting down when he landed in my shoulder. Then started whispering in my ear. Weird things. Things that I would never do. Amazing things. I stood up.
My shoulder is sore. I must’ve slept wrong last night. Possibly too much tension. I’ve never been this alone in my life.
To shoulder so much emotion in a time of grave ailment in order to preserve a small semblance of normalcy is quite a feat. One to be revered. For those you have not lost you will find out some day what that kind of strength is. To shoulder.
Shoulder. Arm. Elbow. Arm. Hand. Fingers. Nails. His body is perfect. All of him. Sitting on a park bench next to him, looking at the prickly goose bumped arm hair, his sweatshirt is on me. He’s cold. I feel guilty but I’m not willing to give it up just yet.
You place your shoulder up against mine
The jolt of electricity indeed is fine
I love the feeling of your skin
It is a delightful pleasurable sin
As you place your shoulder up against mine
Our fingers interlock and our hands entwine
All I could see was her shoulder as she turned, and I immediately knew what it meant; she was finished, she was walking away from me. She didn’t even say goodbye.
“It’s a waste of time lookin’ over your shoulder, Buck,” Pop said. “You already know there’s a herd of folk behind you, better’n you at what you do, just waitin’ to pound you under their hooves, another competitor bites the dust. Speed’s the key Son, which you got, and cleverness, which you don’t, but long as you’re out there smilin’ ahead of the pack, you’ll seal the deal and no one’ll know they got took till the herd come through, and then, chances are folk’ll just be plain confounded by all the blather and tell’em to get the hell outta town.”
My shoulder tends to hurt when I run. I often wish I had somebody who would lean on it, but as of late there isn’t much. Shoulder blades are weird. Ya.
“You are more than a pretty face”
Sometimes I forget that
Sometimes I forget that I can feel
And think
And cry
Or laugh
I forget to stand tall
With my shoulders back
And my face towards the sky
But I remember that one night
So long ago
And I try to be the person you thought I was then
“Oof!” a pain shot through John’s bad shoulder, and he was sent crashing to the floor, flat on his face. His walking stick clattered to the floor in front of him. At first, he didn’t think the person who’d knocked him over was going to help him up, but he was mistaken.
“Forgive me… I didn’t see you, I was quite consumed in my thoughts.” came a smooth baritone voice, as a strong, but slender hand helped him up. “Did I hit your bad shoulder? I’m Sherlock, by the way…”
“John… And how did you know?”
The mysterious Sherlock simply handed John his walking stick, and left, leaving John with only a wink, before he disappeared into the crowd.
The claw was buried deep – very deep – into my shoulder, edging toward my clavicle. There was no finger attached to it. No implication of a talon. A paw. A mutant hand capable of boasting scales or fur. And of course, it hurt very much.
I took considerable time removing the claw, and when it had finally let go out of my flesh, it made a soggy noise and slumped in my palm. I examined the clotted object and wondered who, or what, had wanted to kill me in the first place.
So many, many tears, collected over so many, many years
Rest upon my shoulders,
Forever my burden to bear
~
The weight of the world
right now, the way I am typing.. my shoulder feels as if it will pop off. Soon enough, these words will stop and I will no longer be able to type in fear of popping my shoulder in half. The pain is increasing now
Shiny with a new glistening tan, Marissa’s shoulder was just the top of the gorgeous body that Robert loved. It wasn’t her body that fascinated him most but her unending brilliance, simple beauty, and charismatic laugh that made his heart melt.
On my shoulder there is a litle monkey. I think, in reality, he has always been there. Watching me. Judging me. Deciding when I would be ready to meet him. But now he’s here. He grew in my belly, came out of me on a table, and nursed at my teet. Now, he’s back on my shoulder. Learning. Taking it all in. Following.
I lean on your shoulder, you tell me that’s everything is going to be alright and not to worry. I hear the sincerity in your voice but I can’t stop thinking about hows it actually going to turn out. I smile and close my eyes. Someday I
Woulder, coulder, shoulder.
I was always intrigued by him: the guy with the scar on his shoulder. There was something mysterious about him, and it. I wanted to learn more.
A shoulder is something to lean on. A limb of the body. It’s something to cry on. Both tears of joy and pain. It helps you move around and helps you get things done. A shoulder is a valuable thing. You can do many things with a shoulder.
Weighing the burden of another. Carrying an unfair past or hangup for the benefit of a relationship or romance. Exhausting.
he is a man with wide shoudlers and she is a girl with thin shoulders. they’re not lovers nor friends, just two strangers. and when they met their shoulders touch and he glanced at her for a short while and he thought..
Shoulder. Broad shoulders, thin shoulders, drooping shoulders, slumped shoulders, and strong shoulders. Every shoulder tells a story. The broad one that has yet to encounter its purpose and its burden. The thin and frail shoulder that has either refused to carry its burden or has grown thin and frail by the load life allotted to it, and now the strength it felt is only a distant memory. The drooping shoulder that simply cannot bear the weight anymore. The slumped shoulder that is lazy and relaxed. And the strong shoulder. The one that is currently taking on its own burden and helping another carry theirs.
a shoulder is below your head and above your belly they are very important otherwise you wouldn’t have a neck to breath
I am always a shoulder to lean on, but sometimes I need a shoulder to lean on. My shoulder gets tired and I need a place to rest. When I do lean on another’s shoulder, I worry about their shoulder getting tired as well and then I want them to lean on my shoulder again
she was looking to his shoulders, thinking: “i could be there, just one time”. She just look. Never touch. Never said anything. The distance and the silence making everything more demanding.
Blue blouse, light material, pale skin. 27 freckles in varying shades of lightest brown.
He had the grunt’s body. The barrel chest that came from doing more pushups than a balanced workout would allow for. The thick legs of a man who made his living carrying a backbreaking load up mountains, through the desert, to the horizon and back.
She rest her head into his shoulder and hug him strongly. They could have been like that either 60 seconds or a whole life. They had discovered how to stop the time.
who are you
i lost the count of all the hours
we’ve been hiding far too long
the stormwind still blows
you held the world on your shoulder
when i was too weak
now i’m the one
carrying the lifeless you
on my hunched shoulders
I guess I’m showing my age when I would like to see a little more shoulder and a little less cleavage. I can’t think of anything more seductive than the tease of an off the shoulder style, ruffled in a peasant blouse or a bright gypsy dress, nor anything more elegant than a Grecian-styled one-shoulder gown.
I like today’s tight jeans and sexy heels, and a bit of bare midriff below a tailored blouse and a trim waistband is flirtatious without exposing too much above nor too much below the waistband.
However, baring the entire shoulder down to the maximum skin permissible outside a topless beach is neither seductive, elegant, nor flirtatious. It is attention seeking in the most obvious way. I am obviously not of the “if you’ve got it, flaunt it!” school of thought.
And, since when are bra straps showing outside tank and T-tops appealing? I admit that my fashion icon is Audrey Hepburn, and First Lady Michelle Obama has offered a classy fashion endorsement to bare arms and elegantly exposed shoulders. Let’s have more of “Less is More” fashion tends, and leave vulgarity unsold in the stores!
Hardly ever I am that nervous as when you touch my shoulder from behind. And I know you are there, waiting for me to turn back.
His shirt is damp from my tears and I burrow my head in his shoulder. I don’t want this moment to end. I breathe in the sweet smell of his body and sniffle. He brushes the hair out of my face and I sob.