I like sticks. they are sticky. not sticky like covered in honey but sticky in the pointy way. I guess this could mean covered in honey too. Sticks and stones may break your bones but words will never hurt you. bull shit me thinks.
Sticks and stones
May break my bones
But your words will never hurt me.
What a load of bull. Words slice and dice. They kill little deaths. Tiny, little deaths. Deaths of the heart. Deaths of the soul.
Sticks and stones my ass.
Sticks, sticks, pick up sticks all day long and make a house of sticks not bricks, but sticks. I can’t stick to anything like a diet or whatever but it sure sticks to me!
the sticks were all arranged in a neat little pile. Mariana, pleased with herself, looked up to the treetops for approval, and the light swirl of the falling leaves made her grin and jump to her feet. Taking the topmost stick from the pile, she waved it over her head like a magic wand, mouthing unfamiliar words – as she didn’t know how to speak – and dancing along the forested trail, leaving behind quite the atmosphere in her wake. Mariana loved the trees.
Vin and Triad sat outside a seaside café having cappucinos. They stared across the water at the lighthouse. “You know that saying about sticks and stones?” Triad said. Vin thought a moment. “You mean ’Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me’?” “Yeah.” Triad said. She looked at Vin’s profile. He had a fine Italian nose. “It’s not true,” she said. She took a sip of her coffee. “Every name my father called me, formed me. I’m a ditzy loser.” Vin patted her arm. “Well, you’re MY ditzy loser and I love you.” Triad threw the rest of her coffee in Vin’s face and smashed her cup on the cobblestones.
sticks are smaller piece of wood, like smaller than a branch, but not necessarily bigger than a twig. Sticks are great for starting fires, just gather up an armful, grab a match and in a few moments you can have a lovely fire if you arrange them into a nice pile. Sticks are also excellent for roasting marshmallows. Just grab a long pointy one, stab a marshmallow and roast it over the fire you just built using other sticks. Voila! Sticks are also handy for building a shelter if you happen to get stuck outdoors overnight, but you’ll need to gather way more than you used to build that fire.
I gathered sticks for the fire. I could tell it was going to be a cold night and therefore I needed to hurry. My make shift shelter gleamed in the already waning sunlight. Got to get this fire started. I hope they can find me tomorrow….I can’t stand it that I am away from my family in this lonely hour.
He arranged the sticks on the ground and started the fire. The cool night air caused him to shiver, but the strange sounds reverberating in the forest made him even more so. He wondered if the fire would reveal any of these creatures.
Sticks and stone may break my bones but words are even worse. Words penetrate the skin. Words creep into my soul. Words loose their meaning once they come out of your mouth. Words. Worthless Words. Actions Speak Louder Than Words.
i like the way sticks align themselves. reminds me of being in the forest. carving names into sticks. starving and bored but preoccupied by the mere God given blessing of a stick. oh yeah and this here pocketknife. oh sticks. shticks. nicks. clicks. fix.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. But words do hurt; they’re like invisible rocks that hurt even worse that the real, visible rocks.
and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me…
=
BULLSHIT.
Never once have I been hit, but I’ve been hurt…and words were always the culprit.
Never again will I trust an old wives tale like this…
Never again will I trust a myth.
Here comes the Big Bad Kid, who always finds the biggest, fattest, nastiest stick for walloping all of us little bitty nothings. Someday we’ll be in his grade, and we’ll push around the little bitty nothings, and the Big Bad Kid will have blown away, to junior high, high school, college, adulthood, gone, gone, gone.
and stones will break my bones, yet names can always hurt me. Why? Why are we, the self-proclaimed ‘greatest’ species to cross this grand earth, yet we are subject and slave to such miserable emotions? Why must these, the least reliable of all our qualities, be what drives us: our emotions and instincts. We are no greater than the other animals, it seems.
pick up sticks is the best and simplist game in america it is as simplistic as counting but as complex as jenga if i could i would always play that game
Sticks and stones might break my bones but names will never hurt me. Truer words were never said. The nasty cruel names that you might choose to use to describe me are just that. Names. They are not me. They are a reflection of the ugly part of your soul. The part you keep hidden in a box and never let anyone see. They are sad and painful and hurt. You need a hug to help you overcome that harm.
Sticks. Made for ice cream sticks, wooded sticks to push cuticles. Colorful sticks for children to play with. Walking sticks, plain or adorned with jewels and ivory. Purple stick. Sticks on the ground with a flag attached to it.
I was in the park last week, just wandering, pondering the break-up of my long-term relationship with my boyfriend. I came upon a pile of sticks and realized the sticks were like all the people in my life and I was not alone.
“sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” well…that was a lie. honestly, if I were ever to be hit with sticks or stones, words would hurt worse. sticks and stones are a temporary pain. words can be a pain that lasts forever.
Sticks are the fascination of of little kids everywhere. They also come from trees, or was it leaves? No, leaves on sticks sticks on trees, that’s it. Awesome stuff. Why isn’t that word capitalized! This is heresy!!!!
sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me. it’s been years, but still I fear that someday they’ll desert me and it’s hard yes I know, it’s hard to stand alone when no one understands you.
It sticks together. We stick together. Like the surf sticks the sand together to make up a beach.
brown. but not
birch trees sway in the wind
branches fluttering in
the blistering breath of the
north wind
on each stick, a leaf grows,
new life, so perfect
brown. but not
Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me. That’s what her mother always said when she was a plump child but now as an overweight adult those words sting like sticks being driven into her heart. Do people realize how much their words can inflict pain on others? Do they ever see the scars that leave marks much deeper than the surface?
The sticks she carried toppled from her arms and fell in a disordered pile. She stared at the woman who stood across the street from her in disbelief. That person shouldn’t exist. “Mom?” Because that person died the day she was born.
“I’m sorry for returning like this.”
brown. but not
birch trees whisper in the wind,
branches wavering
on each stick
grows a leaf.
a shoot of green,
a symbol of life
a stick
brown. but not
sticks and stones may break my bones, but my heart will not follow. you are my savior in a lot of ways, but I can’t allow you to take pieces of me with you, not this time. I’m a soldier, and alone, and I will carry on with these sticks and stones at my back. You are not here to help me, not anymore, and I let you go. Completely. Take your sticks and stones, and find another home. Another place to be.
Theres that one thing that really sticks with you your whole life. It could be a quote, a lyric, a peice of advice from a friend. But whenever you find yourself in a truely trying moment that sticky phrase jumps out.
i like to use sticks to start fires. i use the fire to heat up my marshmellows. sticks could be used for toys for dogs. sometimes they put sticks in cages for hamsters for them to chew on them. when i go swimming in the lake there are always sticks in the lake. sticks are very useful for many things.
Sticks and stones, love.
They mend bones.
Words – it’s words, now that you’ve got to know do the breaking.
Breaking hearts, that is.
Not bones.
Sticks and stones, and stones and sticks – splints and axes so we can mend the men we kill.
But words…
Oh, love.
There’s no cure for words, besides the cause of pain –
more words.
Sticks and Stones may Break my Bones but Words Will Never Hurt Me.
It’s okay if words hurt sometimes. It’s normal. It’s human. I don’t know anyone who’s never been hurt by words. And if you do, then they should probably go get that checked cause that’s not normal. yep.
So I live in a wooded glenn and there are sticks EVERYWHERE. Once a week it is my task to pick these sticks up. And let me tell you….ITS ANNOYING. They fall off the trees 24/7. As long as there are tree
It sticks to your mouth, to your teeth, to your gums, to everything but your stomach. You can hardly swallow it, but once its down, its as if you never ate anything at all. You just have to start all over again, hungry as before, and with so much less of an appetite.
stick
stuck
sticking
stucking
sucking?
yuck
muck
luck
duck
truck
wuck
crux
horacrux
voldemort
I like sticks. they are sticky. not sticky like covered in honey but sticky in the pointy way. I guess this could mean covered in honey too. Sticks and stones may break your bones but words will never hurt you. bull shit me thinks.
Sticks and stones
May break my bones
But your words will never hurt me.
What a load of bull. Words slice and dice. They kill little deaths. Tiny, little deaths. Deaths of the heart. Deaths of the soul.
Sticks and stones my ass.
a branch or shoot of a tree or shrub that has been cut or broken off.
Sticks, sticks, pick up sticks all day long and make a house of sticks not bricks, but sticks. I can’t stick to anything like a diet or whatever but it sure sticks to me!
the sticks were all arranged in a neat little pile. Mariana, pleased with herself, looked up to the treetops for approval, and the light swirl of the falling leaves made her grin and jump to her feet. Taking the topmost stick from the pile, she waved it over her head like a magic wand, mouthing unfamiliar words – as she didn’t know how to speak – and dancing along the forested trail, leaving behind quite the atmosphere in her wake. Mariana loved the trees.
Vin and Triad sat outside a seaside café having cappucinos. They stared across the water at the lighthouse. “You know that saying about sticks and stones?” Triad said. Vin thought a moment. “You mean ’Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me’?” “Yeah.” Triad said. She looked at Vin’s profile. He had a fine Italian nose. “It’s not true,” she said. She took a sip of her coffee. “Every name my father called me, formed me. I’m a ditzy loser.” Vin patted her arm. “Well, you’re MY ditzy loser and I love you.” Triad threw the rest of her coffee in Vin’s face and smashed her cup on the cobblestones.
sticks are smaller piece of wood, like smaller than a branch, but not necessarily bigger than a twig. Sticks are great for starting fires, just gather up an armful, grab a match and in a few moments you can have a lovely fire if you arrange them into a nice pile. Sticks are also excellent for roasting marshmallows. Just grab a long pointy one, stab a marshmallow and roast it over the fire you just built using other sticks. Voila! Sticks are also handy for building a shelter if you happen to get stuck outdoors overnight, but you’ll need to gather way more than you used to build that fire.
I gathered sticks for the fire. I could tell it was going to be a cold night and therefore I needed to hurry. My make shift shelter gleamed in the already waning sunlight. Got to get this fire started. I hope they can find me tomorrow….I can’t stand it that I am away from my family in this lonely hour.
He arranged the sticks on the ground and started the fire. The cool night air caused him to shiver, but the strange sounds reverberating in the forest made him even more so. He wondered if the fire would reveal any of these creatures.
Sticks and stone may break my bones but words are even worse. Words penetrate the skin. Words creep into my soul. Words loose their meaning once they come out of your mouth. Words. Worthless Words. Actions Speak Louder Than Words.
i like the way sticks align themselves. reminds me of being in the forest. carving names into sticks. starving and bored but preoccupied by the mere God given blessing of a stick. oh yeah and this here pocketknife. oh sticks. shticks. nicks. clicks. fix.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. But words do hurt; they’re like invisible rocks that hurt even worse that the real, visible rocks.
and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me…
=
BULLSHIT.
Never once have I been hit, but I’ve been hurt…and words were always the culprit.
Never again will I trust an old wives tale like this…
Never again will I trust a myth.
Here comes the Big Bad Kid, who always finds the biggest, fattest, nastiest stick for walloping all of us little bitty nothings. Someday we’ll be in his grade, and we’ll push around the little bitty nothings, and the Big Bad Kid will have blown away, to junior high, high school, college, adulthood, gone, gone, gone.
and stones will break my bones, yet names can always hurt me. Why? Why are we, the self-proclaimed ‘greatest’ species to cross this grand earth, yet we are subject and slave to such miserable emotions? Why must these, the least reliable of all our qualities, be what drives us: our emotions and instincts. We are no greater than the other animals, it seems.
pick up sticks is the best and simplist game in america it is as simplistic as counting but as complex as jenga if i could i would always play that game
Sticks…brown, green, crisp, crackle.
Sticks and stones might break my bones but names will never hurt me. Truer words were never said. The nasty cruel names that you might choose to use to describe me are just that. Names. They are not me. They are a reflection of the ugly part of your soul. The part you keep hidden in a box and never let anyone see. They are sad and painful and hurt. You need a hug to help you overcome that harm.
Sticks. Made for ice cream sticks, wooded sticks to push cuticles. Colorful sticks for children to play with. Walking sticks, plain or adorned with jewels and ivory. Purple stick. Sticks on the ground with a flag attached to it.
I was in the park last week, just wandering, pondering the break-up of my long-term relationship with my boyfriend. I came upon a pile of sticks and realized the sticks were like all the people in my life and I was not alone.
“sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” well…that was a lie. honestly, if I were ever to be hit with sticks or stones, words would hurt worse. sticks and stones are a temporary pain. words can be a pain that lasts forever.
brown. but not
birch trees whisper in the wind,
branches wavering
on each stick
grows a leaf.
a shoot of green,
new life
a stick
brown. but not
Sticks are the fascination of of little kids everywhere. They also come from trees, or was it leaves? No, leaves on sticks sticks on trees, that’s it. Awesome stuff. Why isn’t that word capitalized! This is heresy!!!!
sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me. it’s been years, but still I fear that someday they’ll desert me and it’s hard yes I know, it’s hard to stand alone when no one understands you.
It sticks together. We stick together. Like the surf sticks the sand together to make up a beach.
brown. but not
birch trees sway in the wind
branches fluttering in
the blistering breath of the
north wind
on each stick, a leaf grows,
new life, so perfect
brown. but not
Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me. That’s what her mother always said when she was a plump child but now as an overweight adult those words sting like sticks being driven into her heart. Do people realize how much their words can inflict pain on others? Do they ever see the scars that leave marks much deeper than the surface?
He pretends to shoot the dog with a stick until she takes it out of his hand…
the hounds of war.
The sticks she carried toppled from her arms and fell in a disordered pile. She stared at the woman who stood across the street from her in disbelief. That person shouldn’t exist. “Mom?” Because that person died the day she was born.
“I’m sorry for returning like this.”
wood, long, hard, brown, hurtful, used to be green, earthy, hippys love, knots
brown. but not
birch trees whisper in the wind,
branches wavering
on each stick
grows a leaf.
a shoot of green,
a symbol of life
a stick
brown. but not
Sharp or dull, sticks are interesting…straight or bent, character shows those the bark may be crusty or soft.
sticks and stones may break my bones, but my heart will not follow. you are my savior in a lot of ways, but I can’t allow you to take pieces of me with you, not this time. I’m a soldier, and alone, and I will carry on with these sticks and stones at my back. You are not here to help me, not anymore, and I let you go. Completely. Take your sticks and stones, and find another home. Another place to be.
Theres that one thing that really sticks with you your whole life. It could be a quote, a lyric, a peice of advice from a friend. But whenever you find yourself in a truely trying moment that sticky phrase jumps out.
i like to use sticks to start fires. i use the fire to heat up my marshmellows. sticks could be used for toys for dogs. sometimes they put sticks in cages for hamsters for them to chew on them. when i go swimming in the lake there are always sticks in the lake. sticks are very useful for many things.
Sticks and stones, love.
They mend bones.
Words – it’s words, now that you’ve got to know do the breaking.
Breaking hearts, that is.
Not bones.
Sticks and stones, and stones and sticks – splints and axes so we can mend the men we kill.
But words…
Oh, love.
There’s no cure for words, besides the cause of pain –
more words.
Sticks and Stones may Break my Bones but Words Will Never Hurt Me.
It’s okay if words hurt sometimes. It’s normal. It’s human. I don’t know anyone who’s never been hurt by words. And if you do, then they should probably go get that checked cause that’s not normal. yep.
So I live in a wooded glenn and there are sticks EVERYWHERE. Once a week it is my task to pick these sticks up. And let me tell you….ITS ANNOYING. They fall off the trees 24/7. As long as there are tree
sticks and stones,
they carve my bones,
shape, teach, and guide me.
i’ll face my fears,
in broken mirrors,
to show they’ll never hurt me.
It sticks to your mouth, to your teeth, to your gums, to everything but your stomach. You can hardly swallow it, but once its down, its as if you never ate anything at all. You just have to start all over again, hungry as before, and with so much less of an appetite.