Under the blankets pulled up snugly beneath my chilly nose, I don’t want to get out of bed. It is foggy and I am just not feeling it today. School is a distant thought in my mind still breached with the remainders of dreams. Dreams that are already starting to fade away as my alarm insists that I get up….NOW!
My cat and my underwear sit there, under my table. My socks are under there too.
I also see, my feet in the socks. Under them, sits the floor, unmoving, and unfeeling, under the rays of heaven.
i was being crushed. the weight of my impending doom was right on top of me, and i could hardly breathe. under the weight of all the decisions i had to make, under the pressure of all those people– i would surely die.
Under is where some of us belong. It’s not a bad thing. Because from under you’re constantly looking up. Constantly looking to better yourself. And isn’t that the point? To make yourself better? I like to think so.
i am reminded of a long necked woman with a rigid spine
silent
attending the opera alone.
of dying embers
one september night. you cradled them in cold palms,
speckled burns like a moth’s wing. only enough
to feel, a kiss
brushed faint across cheekbones.
you see, i have been running, always,
ever since we learned the game of cops
and robbers.
in a gas station in the middle of nowhere
the stagnant air smells of ash.
When I think about or see the word under I only think of where I’ve began in my career. Being only 13 years old when I started recording music, I was often considered by myself and others as the under dog.
Lying under the dark blanket, the sky’s limit seems endless. It’s black boundaries are unfathomable, and the only light that is shed is from the few stars. Its a beautiful mystery: a magical masterpiece.
underneath the headge, underneath the stone. She crept she crawled she sped under the bridge. She fled, she ran. Under her heart, under her mind. Undermind, undermind what? No, under the thrill of the chase, under the speed of the chase, there is an electric current that runs, runs, runs.
Under the vast, dark, gleaming sky, i feel little. Overpowered. Yet, completely amazed as I look underneath the stars. Just gazing. Dreams taking over my mind.
Something grows under there. Something dark, something gray. Sinister? No. It just gives that impression to those who are unwilling to climb under and take a look for themselves. near the concrete blocks you’ll find y
Under the bed I see a rabbit but I’m no sure where he came from and why he is there. He’s cute with that little bow tie on. I want to keep him as a pet, but I know mom will object. Why does she do that.
Its underneath above but the word itself is doesn’t value itself ya know? it is under respect, under love, under everything. Being under something offers protection and love I guess? Under is one of those words, that without it sentences can’t be formed. At the end of the day underneath the all the pain… Under hide a lot of things. Above finds them
Understanding the depths of the ocean, under all the layers of seaweed, overestimating every under-calculated mistake like some Sherpa with too little experience who started with too much enthusiasm and without any fuel for it. You’ll never get there. That’s what they said. I’m not too sure, but perhaps if I’m not there, at least I’m somewhere…
– That’s all I’m thinking under this composed facade, my coffee getting cold as my thoughts steam on.
Under is not easily seen or open for everyone to see but underneath evry pain, there is peace, underneath evry ugly there is beauty and underneath all the crop we go throu there will be a day where there will be no pain!
I could hurt you, you know, it would be so very easy. To shoot you, or shoot her, or shoot her and then you and then me. Alas, I am under orders not to harm you. It doesn’t seem fair that I should have to stand here with my finger on the trigger and not fire. After all, where was mercy when I was under you and your knife? Gritting my teeth against the screams while your blade ripped into my chest, where was it then? Look, you can still see the scars. But I still won’t pull the trigger, because I am not only under orders but under grace. And grace forgives.
Under the ocean lives an incredible sea monster. Glistening scales in all different colors. she is one of a kind and no one even knows she existed. She is beautiful and yet no one will know her beauty. That is life.
Under is a hard place. When you are under something it often feels impossible to get out of but it is possible and it is sort for understood so come out of under and let us help you feel understood.
I’ll put you under the bridge. There you will seek your friends and enemies hidden in the tall grass where all is without complaint or space or restraint or haste. We’ll think for another time, but for now, this must pass. Open up and lay out.
Undr the water, where the light barely filtered down to the bottom, James waited to die. The cold filtered into his bones and the life slowly leaked ouof him. His eyes, however his brain worked just fine.
Under you and me, there is something much larger than the meager feelings that compose us. Under you and me, there are galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of the human mind, and love that is larger than you and I could ever understand. Under us, there is everything that lies above us. Under you, there is love.
Under your skin I find myself searching for the truth, the truth about this relationship. Under this fake mask we both leave on. Pretending to be something we are not. Pretending.
There’s a monster under the bed. It eats the single socks that end up there. I have named him Wool, because that is his favorite flavor. I’ve never seen him, but he likes to make noises when I try to get up for class that sound like lullabies.
Under the lake, and around the long cabin with the tinted windows (who the hell knows how they got tinted anyway) was a chest. Mary Tyler had put that chest there a long time ago, after the man who broke her heart had run off with another woman, on the day that she put a gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger.
Under your skin I find myself searching for the truth, the truth of this relationship. Under the fake mask we both are leaving on. Lies. Mistakes. Memories that have broken the love we felt once for each other. Moments in which we promised to love each other for ever, later on became lies when you left. Alone. I am sited in the floor with my arms over my bended legs, my head being hold. Wondering if I should forget or forgive you. Under. Under the lies hides the truth. The truth that demonstrates me that you are not meant to be. Freely walking away.
Underwater, underneath everything. Suffocation. This is what I feel to everyone, under everyone, below everyone. It’s a scary feeling. It’s just like I can’t compete and can’t breathe. Simple bodily functions just don’t work anymore and it’s scary.
under the tree hides a big dog, with unfinished buisness. he hasnt dreamed enough . but he is already old to live his life. Everybody need time and nobody uses it wisel
Under what? You’re command? No, I don’t think so. I’d rather march under Colonel Edwards any day. At least he goes out and fights instead of sitting in the hooch clinking whiskey glasses and smoking cigars with his senior officers.
Years ago, they found her.. under a turned over trashcan.
She was dirty, filthy, and starved.
They took her home, fed her and loved her until the end of her nearing lifespan.
She died with a smile on her face..
I was under him arm. It was warm and comfortable, and I snuggled into his shoulder. He said something, I don’t remember what. But it was funny, and I laughed. This was a good way to spend the day. It was cold outside, and snowflakes fluttered to the ground. I hate the cold. In here though, it was warm.
under the bed there was a monster. The monster was green, and purple. It scared all the little kids in town. Under this bed, was a whole world of monsters that nobody could even imagine.
I want to be under the stars with you, watching them while holding you hand, thinking about how tiny we really are compared to them. I dream about looking up at them while we lie on the ground under the vast sky. Talking about how we’re always under the same sky even when we’re apart and how special that is and when we can see the moon, we’re both under that even if we’re a hundred miles apart and that makes me feel so much closer to you when I can’t wait to see you again. I love being under the sky, with or without you, especially on a cold night, smoking a cigarette and thinking about how we do that together. Every time I look up, I think of you, but then again, I always think of you, but that’s not the point, under the stars makes me feel like loving someone so far away is worth it, because we see the same thing. I love you. I love you. I love you. Under the stars and the moon, I love you. Under the sun too, but everyone sees that on a daily basis, but us, we stay up to look at the stars and the moon and that’s us. We stayed up late the first night we talked, so that’s when I think about you most.
under and over and out
in the wild
where there’s not a soul to shove
a minute more of craziness
down under your throat
unless, of course
that;s your cup of tea
little things bite at me. i find myself enthralled when someone doesn’t like me, need me, appreciate me. it gets under my skin and hurts me. it ends certain parts of me. and i thought this was over. i thought that was so high school horror story, wishing everyone would crowd around me with smiles instead of malice. but there’s always that one person who rips into me and destroys my peace. always.
Under my bed there are dust bunnies. Even though we have a maid in our house. Well its not really “our” house. I just live here with my host parents. But they don’t feel like parents. Or friends. Just some nice people I live with. Sometimes they bother me, but I’m not ungrateful or anything. Under their roof. They call me their daughter, but I don’t love them like I loved my first family. I just have to keep reminding myself that feeling takes time.
Under the blankets pulled up snugly beneath my chilly nose, I don’t want to get out of bed. It is foggy and I am just not feeling it today. School is a distant thought in my mind still breached with the remainders of dreams. Dreams that are already starting to fade away as my alarm insists that I get up….NOW!
My cat and my underwear sit there, under my table. My socks are under there too.
I also see, my feet in the socks. Under them, sits the floor, unmoving, and unfeeling, under the rays of heaven.
i was being crushed. the weight of my impending doom was right on top of me, and i could hardly breathe. under the weight of all the decisions i had to make, under the pressure of all those people– i would surely die.
Under is where some of us belong. It’s not a bad thing. Because from under you’re constantly looking up. Constantly looking to better yourself. And isn’t that the point? To make yourself better? I like to think so.
i am reminded of a long necked woman with a rigid spine
silent
attending the opera alone.
of dying embers
one september night. you cradled them in cold palms,
speckled burns like a moth’s wing. only enough
to feel, a kiss
brushed faint across cheekbones.
you see, i have been running, always,
ever since we learned the game of cops
and robbers.
in a gas station in the middle of nowhere
the stagnant air smells of ash.
we’re all fugitives here.
(what we wanted was a world of our own.)
Under the sky, I look up and see a blanket of shimmering little rhinestones. I can’t help but wonder what’s in store for us,
under me,
what I see
is you
and that’s how I like it to be
When I think about or see the word under I only think of where I’ve began in my career. Being only 13 years old when I started recording music, I was often considered by myself and others as the under dog.
Lying under the dark blanket, the sky’s limit seems endless. It’s black boundaries are unfathomable, and the only light that is shed is from the few stars. Its a beautiful mystery: a magical masterpiece.
Everything was okay because it didn’t matter. But deep down underneath everything its not okay because it really did matter.
underneath the headge, underneath the stone. She crept she crawled she sped under the bridge. She fled, she ran. Under her heart, under her mind. Undermind, undermind what? No, under the thrill of the chase, under the speed of the chase, there is an electric current that runs, runs, runs.
Under the vast, dark, gleaming sky, i feel little. Overpowered. Yet, completely amazed as I look underneath the stars. Just gazing. Dreams taking over my mind.
Something grows under there. Something dark, something gray. Sinister? No. It just gives that impression to those who are unwilling to climb under and take a look for themselves. near the concrete blocks you’ll find y
Under the bed I see a rabbit but I’m no sure where he came from and why he is there. He’s cute with that little bow tie on. I want to keep him as a pet, but I know mom will object. Why does she do that.
Its underneath above but the word itself is doesn’t value itself ya know? it is under respect, under love, under everything. Being under something offers protection and love I guess? Under is one of those words, that without it sentences can’t be formed. At the end of the day underneath the all the pain… Under hide a lot of things. Above finds them
Understanding the depths of the ocean, under all the layers of seaweed, overestimating every under-calculated mistake like some Sherpa with too little experience who started with too much enthusiasm and without any fuel for it. You’ll never get there. That’s what they said. I’m not too sure, but perhaps if I’m not there, at least I’m somewhere…
– That’s all I’m thinking under this composed facade, my coffee getting cold as my thoughts steam on.
Under is not easily seen or open for everyone to see but underneath evry pain, there is peace, underneath evry ugly there is beauty and underneath all the crop we go throu there will be a day where there will be no pain!
I could hurt you, you know, it would be so very easy. To shoot you, or shoot her, or shoot her and then you and then me. Alas, I am under orders not to harm you. It doesn’t seem fair that I should have to stand here with my finger on the trigger and not fire. After all, where was mercy when I was under you and your knife? Gritting my teeth against the screams while your blade ripped into my chest, where was it then? Look, you can still see the scars. But I still won’t pull the trigger, because I am not only under orders but under grace. And grace forgives.
I was always the underdog.
He hated me.
I hated me.
We all hated me.
Only some underdog stories
Missed their happy endings.
Under the ocean lives an incredible sea monster. Glistening scales in all different colors. she is one of a kind and no one even knows she existed. She is beautiful and yet no one will know her beauty. That is life.
Under is a hard place. When you are under something it often feels impossible to get out of but it is possible and it is sort for understood so come out of under and let us help you feel understood.
I’ll put you under the bridge. There you will seek your friends and enemies hidden in the tall grass where all is without complaint or space or restraint or haste. We’ll think for another time, but for now, this must pass. Open up and lay out.
Undr the water, where the light barely filtered down to the bottom, James waited to die. The cold filtered into his bones and the life slowly leaked ouof him. His eyes, however his brain worked just fine.
Under you and me, there is something much larger than the meager feelings that compose us. Under you and me, there are galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of the human mind, and love that is larger than you and I could ever understand. Under us, there is everything that lies above us. Under you, there is love.
Under your skin I find myself searching for the truth, the truth about this relationship. Under this fake mask we both leave on. Pretending to be something we are not. Pretending.
makes me think underneath of a bridge with water flowing and graffiti.
There’s a monster under the bed. It eats the single socks that end up there. I have named him Wool, because that is his favorite flavor. I’ve never seen him, but he likes to make noises when I try to get up for class that sound like lullabies.
Under the lake, and around the long cabin with the tinted windows (who the hell knows how they got tinted anyway) was a chest. Mary Tyler had put that chest there a long time ago, after the man who broke her heart had run off with another woman, on the day that she put a gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger.
Under your skin I find myself searching for the truth, the truth of this relationship. Under the fake mask we both are leaving on. Lies. Mistakes. Memories that have broken the love we felt once for each other. Moments in which we promised to love each other for ever, later on became lies when you left. Alone. I am sited in the floor with my arms over my bended legs, my head being hold. Wondering if I should forget or forgive you. Under. Under the lies hides the truth. The truth that demonstrates me that you are not meant to be. Freely walking away.
Underwater, underneath everything. Suffocation. This is what I feel to everyone, under everyone, below everyone. It’s a scary feeling. It’s just like I can’t compete and can’t breathe. Simple bodily functions just don’t work anymore and it’s scary.
under the tree hides a big dog, with unfinished buisness. he hasnt dreamed enough . but he is already old to live his life. Everybody need time and nobody uses it wisel
Under what? You’re command? No, I don’t think so. I’d rather march under Colonel Edwards any day. At least he goes out and fights instead of sitting in the hooch clinking whiskey glasses and smoking cigars with his senior officers.
Years ago, they found her.. under a turned over trashcan.
She was dirty, filthy, and starved.
They took her home, fed her and loved her until the end of her nearing lifespan.
She died with a smile on her face..
When all the facade that is our clothes, our makeup, our skin, our bones, are all stripped off, lay only our soul.
I was under him arm. It was warm and comfortable, and I snuggled into his shoulder. He said something, I don’t remember what. But it was funny, and I laughed. This was a good way to spend the day. It was cold outside, and snowflakes fluttered to the ground. I hate the cold. In here though, it was warm.
under the bed there was a monster. The monster was green, and purple. It scared all the little kids in town. Under this bed, was a whole world of monsters that nobody could even imagine.
I want to be under the stars with you, watching them while holding you hand, thinking about how tiny we really are compared to them. I dream about looking up at them while we lie on the ground under the vast sky. Talking about how we’re always under the same sky even when we’re apart and how special that is and when we can see the moon, we’re both under that even if we’re a hundred miles apart and that makes me feel so much closer to you when I can’t wait to see you again. I love being under the sky, with or without you, especially on a cold night, smoking a cigarette and thinking about how we do that together. Every time I look up, I think of you, but then again, I always think of you, but that’s not the point, under the stars makes me feel like loving someone so far away is worth it, because we see the same thing. I love you. I love you. I love you. Under the stars and the moon, I love you. Under the sun too, but everyone sees that on a daily basis, but us, we stay up to look at the stars and the moon and that’s us. We stayed up late the first night we talked, so that’s when I think about you most.
under and over and out
in the wild
where there’s not a soul to shove
a minute more of craziness
down under your throat
unless, of course
that;s your cup of tea
little things bite at me. i find myself enthralled when someone doesn’t like me, need me, appreciate me. it gets under my skin and hurts me. it ends certain parts of me. and i thought this was over. i thought that was so high school horror story, wishing everyone would crowd around me with smiles instead of malice. but there’s always that one person who rips into me and destroys my peace. always.
Under my bed there are dust bunnies. Even though we have a maid in our house. Well its not really “our” house. I just live here with my host parents. But they don’t feel like parents. Or friends. Just some nice people I live with. Sometimes they bother me, but I’m not ungrateful or anything. Under their roof. They call me their daughter, but I don’t love them like I loved my first family. I just have to keep reminding myself that feeling takes time.