I am a willful person. I fight with my mother. I think for myself. Most of the time. I don’t do compromises very well. It used to be a problem. I was mean to my sister. I’ve grown up but it’s still an issue. I like being willful. Except when I don’t.
One world, one chance, one life to live. This has got me thinking about what I’ll do with my
life. My name is Harper Williams, I am eighteen years old and this is my story.
I grew up in Spokane, Washington. My family
They say he was pushed. They say he went up on the roof, that he was followed. They say that he went up there to take some air, to take in the view. They say he just wanted time to think. They say he was pushed.
I say he was willful…
many people are very willful in the art of the Jedi and in doing the tea just spilled on top of a laptop and in other words I have to go long into a cave about on a journey to being willful and I hope it will a very pleasant and willful journey because i am sick and tired of these motherfuckin snakes on this motherfuckin plane.
She stared defiantly at the man before her before turning on the heel of her golden sandal and walking to the cherry red convertible, cranking the engine, and driving away. A tightening of her jaw, a defiant set to her hips, a lifting of her chin were the last things he saw. She had ignored everything that her stupid heart had yelled at her, listening instead to her own brain. It had taken all her spirit, but she had done it, had freed herself. This was to be her new philosophy, that anything could be accomplished if only she had will enough to follow through to the end, much like she used to tell herself in her cross country races in high school. It was with a lightened heart, a sense of optimism, and an iron-clad resolve that she left him behind for good.
I am willful. I need to move, and I need to go. I need to tear past all that’s stopping me, rip up the mess I am running into, and fight for what I know I can do. I believe. And I can do. So tired of not hearing and not seeing. I will.
screaming. throwing the toy truck up and down the car window. wont click the car seat. wont sit. wont sing. wont listen. wriggle, writhing, sad. screaming, kicking till there is no choice but to wait.
It’s not about the will. Everyone who comes in here has the will. Otherwise they would never have stepped through that door. It’s just never what they expect. They can’t stomach it, and some days, neither can I. But it’s never been about wanting it enough.
What is willful? Willful means to be filled with will, to be consumed with enough energy and to possess the strength needed in order to carry out that which is your dreams.
“Feeling better?” He leans back and tears into the sandwich,
“I dunno… if I say no, will you comfort me, yo?” He leans his head over and looks at me with half-lidded, I’m-so-clever, eyes. I snort and walk over to set my sandwich on the table and-shocking him-sit in his lap. He drops the sandwich onto the small stand next to the couch and gives me an, are-you-insane, look.
I smile, “So long as you keep talking and don’t go all robotic again I’ll do anything.” The tremble in my voice doesn’t seem to go unnoticed. One of his hands shackle a wrist in a curiously possessive gesture and the other hand travels up to start running through my hair again. I sigh and lay my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. I fall asleep slowly, and I think dreamily…
How did I ever get to sleep without him?
Embracing the sportsmanship lessons his coach had taught him and his fellow teammates over the course of the season, the willful boy slid into second base cleats down knowing full well he would be called out. Ty Cobb would have been ashamed, he thought as he slid into the waiting glove. The sweating shortstop whispered “thanks loser”, as he began his trot to home plate to join in on his’ teams championship game celebration. As he wiped the dirt from his uniform, the kid knew that the next few allowances would be spent on the spikiest pair of cleats his meager earnings would allow.
the next time we spoke he was more willful than before. It seemed that his love for me had grown and he supressed it less easily. A feeling of fire and excitement grew inside me but i knew it wouldn’t last as it never had. I was wrong, the next time we spoke the tables had turned. I wanted him more.
the next time we spoke he was more willful than before. It seemed that his love for me had grown and he surpressed it less easily. A feeling of fire and excitement grew inside me
I was never called willful. I was a child and a teenager who preferred to fit in. I might have exerted my opinion had I felt strongly but generally I was pretty mellow.
Willful: strong, impetuous, she stood on the edge of her life and pushed at the wall that rose before her. Others called to her to stop, to think, to assess, to make a wiser choice. Some of them knew better than her. She listened to no one, she pushed at the wall. For years. Then one day, the wall came crashing down.
To peruse to dream to imagine a greater perspective where the overhanging drought of our preconconcived notions gather claim rather than permit the final outcome of our actions
It was out of my own free will. I was willful to sacrifice my own life to save hers. If she was to die, I wouldn’t even know what to do with my life. I was probably more inclined to end my life there and now after I found out she was murdered. I would do this for her. I’m going to do this for her. This is for you,babe. My will is now yours since I know you’ll move on without me anyway; but at least I wouldn’t have to live without your beautiful face…
She turned her back on the sun and bent towards the earth. The soil was warm, soft, clay and loam inter-spiced and dwelling. Her shoulders were touched with bronze, every hum a quietude and an understanding.
Just opening to feelings and letting the truth of soul come out… Its going to be okay when this truth comes out
I like to align my will with the will of the creator then we can really see some great things happening. I know I am not alone in creation so I trust the creative abilities of the universe!
He was willful. In third grade, when the teachers asked him to sit still, he told the teacher that he felt constrained and he started trying to climb out the window. The teacher did not appreciate the gesture.
Every time I get this sick, she thought, I lose my friends a little more.
They feel awkward around me, or they don’t understand, or I become a chore.
Then again, I can make new friends once I’m well again. Then lose them. Then make some more.
Eventually, maybe some will stick around.
She wasn’t sure whether she was being cynical or wilful.
stubborn. difficult. negative. But is it really? It implies that you know yourself, what you want and that you will stand by that. My mother used to call me willful. It hurt my feelings then. But now I am proud of it. I can thank that “negative” trait for making me stand up for myself, know what I want and do what I must to get it. I have a good life. And I have forged my own path to get it. I could not have done that without being willful.
I cannot agree with myself. All of these decisions that I am making and all of the choices I am going to make, have I already made them, or is it all just a dream? I’m stuck wondering if I have a chain around my neck, but who is tugging it? More questions than there are answers. This chain it pulls me, I’ve got a collar too, written on it, “willing”. Why am I still holding on.
I cannot agree with myself. All of these decisions that I am making and all of the choices I am going to make, have I already made them, or is it all just a dream? I’m stuck wondering if I have a chain around my neck, but who is tugging it? More questions than there are answers. This chain it pulls me, I’ve got a collar to, written on it, “willing”. Why am I still holding on.
She was the willful type. Strong and independent – at least on the outside. And most of the time, the outside was all they saw. Alone, she trembled in fear and confusion. For on the inside, the will disappeared and she was slowly piecing herself back together.
I willfully did that. At the time I didn’t know he was manipulating me. I thought it was love. I was young and stupid. It’s even more painful to know that, after so many years, I still have a soft spot for him. I can understand why he’d laugh at me. He manipulated me then… he doesn’t even have to try to manipulate me now. I’m a sucker for him. I can see that. But a part of me is just stuck in that teenager who had a huge crush on him. Wish that part of me would grow up too.
My dog Isabelle is a willful animal. She has the stubborn mind to look back at me and then stare off into the unknown ahead of her. They say dogs cannot think, but I wonder if they would change their mind if they saw her in action.
I am often known as a willful child. Sometimes I think that this is a good thing but other times I know that they mean it as an insult. But I really love being a willful girl. It means that I am strong and independent and that I don’t need anyone watching out for me. But there are social standards that tell me that this is wrong and girls should be meek and do as they are told.
Jefferson leaned forward in her chair. It creaked slightly, like it was attempting to breathe, its cushion serving as a lung. She smiled at the grungy man, handcuffed to the table.
“I know when you willfully commit a crime and when you don’t,” she mused. “You’ve had your fair share of whoopsies.”
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I don’t know what is willful
I am a willful person. I fight with my mother. I think for myself. Most of the time. I don’t do compromises very well. It used to be a problem. I was mean to my sister. I’ve grown up but it’s still an issue. I like being willful. Except when I don’t.
One world, one chance, one life to live. This has got me thinking about what I’ll do with my
life. My name is Harper Williams, I am eighteen years old and this is my story.
I grew up in Spokane, Washington. My family
“… with willful abandon.” the woman finished, closing the book, and setting it down on the table.
There was a breath of silence as the words were absorbed and then a clattering of sounds that were less like poetry and more like children.
Willful. Willful is the will to fulfill the will to the fullest. If you have a willful passion then you shall be granted glory.
They say he was pushed. They say he went up on the roof, that he was followed. They say that he went up there to take some air, to take in the view. They say he just wanted time to think. They say he was pushed.
I say he was willful…
many people are very willful in the art of the Jedi and in doing the tea just spilled on top of a laptop and in other words I have to go long into a cave about on a journey to being willful and I hope it will a very pleasant and willful journey because i am sick and tired of these motherfuckin snakes on this motherfuckin plane.
She stared defiantly at the man before her before turning on the heel of her golden sandal and walking to the cherry red convertible, cranking the engine, and driving away. A tightening of her jaw, a defiant set to her hips, a lifting of her chin were the last things he saw. She had ignored everything that her stupid heart had yelled at her, listening instead to her own brain. It had taken all her spirit, but she had done it, had freed herself. This was to be her new philosophy, that anything could be accomplished if only she had will enough to follow through to the end, much like she used to tell herself in her cross country races in high school. It was with a lightened heart, a sense of optimism, and an iron-clad resolve that she left him behind for good.
Will full is the feeling when you want to do somthing. Why does it haveonel. Who decides that? And wht makes you will ful,what in your brain decides?
hola
por tu amor es que sigo aqui jajajajaja hello??? hernandez estefany rebeca haziel danae bruno re
I am willful. I need to move, and I need to go. I need to tear past all that’s stopping me, rip up the mess I am running into, and fight for what I know I can do. I believe. And I can do. So tired of not hearing and not seeing. I will.
screaming. throwing the toy truck up and down the car window. wont click the car seat. wont sit. wont sing. wont listen. wriggle, writhing, sad. screaming, kicking till there is no choice but to wait.
i was willful. It was willful. nobody like it. no one will.
It’s not about the will. Everyone who comes in here has the will. Otherwise they would never have stepped through that door. It’s just never what they expect. They can’t stomach it, and some days, neither can I. But it’s never been about wanting it enough.
when do I let go? sometimes I wonder if it is time for me to stop wondering so much. to subvert my mind and see what exists beyond. when do I let go?
What is willful? Willful means to be filled with will, to be consumed with enough energy and to possess the strength needed in order to carry out that which is your dreams.
“Feeling better?” He leans back and tears into the sandwich,
“I dunno… if I say no, will you comfort me, yo?” He leans his head over and looks at me with half-lidded, I’m-so-clever, eyes. I snort and walk over to set my sandwich on the table and-shocking him-sit in his lap. He drops the sandwich onto the small stand next to the couch and gives me an, are-you-insane, look.
I smile, “So long as you keep talking and don’t go all robotic again I’ll do anything.” The tremble in my voice doesn’t seem to go unnoticed. One of his hands shackle a wrist in a curiously possessive gesture and the other hand travels up to start running through my hair again. I sigh and lay my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. I fall asleep slowly, and I think dreamily…
How did I ever get to sleep without him?
I always tried to be there. Try to help out, be compassionate. Just serve mindlessly so I could forget about my own problems. I was the willing one.
Embracing the sportsmanship lessons his coach had taught him and his fellow teammates over the course of the season, the willful boy slid into second base cleats down knowing full well he would be called out. Ty Cobb would have been ashamed, he thought as he slid into the waiting glove. The sweating shortstop whispered “thanks loser”, as he began his trot to home plate to join in on his’ teams championship game celebration. As he wiped the dirt from his uniform, the kid knew that the next few allowances would be spent on the spikiest pair of cleats his meager earnings would allow.
the next time we spoke he was more willful than before. It seemed that his love for me had grown and he supressed it less easily. A feeling of fire and excitement grew inside me but i knew it wouldn’t last as it never had. I was wrong, the next time we spoke the tables had turned. I wanted him more.
the next time we spoke he was more willful than before. It seemed that his love for me had grown and he surpressed it less easily. A feeling of fire and excitement grew inside me
I was never called willful. I was a child and a teenager who preferred to fit in. I might have exerted my opinion had I felt strongly but generally I was pretty mellow.
Willful: strong, impetuous, she stood on the edge of her life and pushed at the wall that rose before her. Others called to her to stop, to think, to assess, to make a wiser choice. Some of them knew better than her. She listened to no one, she pushed at the wall. For years. Then one day, the wall came crashing down.
To peruse to dream to imagine a greater perspective where the overhanging drought of our preconconcived notions gather claim rather than permit the final outcome of our actions
It was out of my own free will. I was willful to sacrifice my own life to save hers. If she was to die, I wouldn’t even know what to do with my life. I was probably more inclined to end my life there and now after I found out she was murdered. I would do this for her. I’m going to do this for her. This is for you,babe. My will is now yours since I know you’ll move on without me anyway; but at least I wouldn’t have to live without your beautiful face…
Strong, dedicated, near.
She turned her back on the sun and bent towards the earth. The soil was warm, soft, clay and loam inter-spiced and dwelling. Her shoulders were touched with bronze, every hum a quietude and an understanding.
Just opening to feelings and letting the truth of soul come out… Its going to be okay when this truth comes out
I like to align my will with the will of the creator then we can really see some great things happening. I know I am not alone in creation so I trust the creative abilities of the universe!
He was willful. In third grade, when the teachers asked him to sit still, he told the teacher that he felt constrained and he started trying to climb out the window. The teacher did not appreciate the gesture.
she was happy, she was… willful. That’s the word. I cannot help feel amazed around her. every small thing she does, its..its amazing.
Every time I get this sick, she thought, I lose my friends a little more.
They feel awkward around me, or they don’t understand, or I become a chore.
Then again, I can make new friends once I’m well again. Then lose them. Then make some more.
Eventually, maybe some will stick around.
She wasn’t sure whether she was being cynical or wilful.
stubborn. difficult. negative. But is it really? It implies that you know yourself, what you want and that you will stand by that. My mother used to call me willful. It hurt my feelings then. But now I am proud of it. I can thank that “negative” trait for making me stand up for myself, know what I want and do what I must to get it. I have a good life. And I have forged my own path to get it. I could not have done that without being willful.
I cannot agree with myself. All of these decisions that I am making and all of the choices I am going to make, have I already made them, or is it all just a dream? I’m stuck wondering if I have a chain around my neck, but who is tugging it? More questions than there are answers. This chain it pulls me, I’ve got a collar too, written on it, “willing”. Why am I still holding on.
I cannot agree with myself. All of these decisions that I am making and all of the choices I am going to make, have I already made them, or is it all just a dream? I’m stuck wondering if I have a chain around my neck, but who is tugging it? More questions than there are answers. This chain it pulls me, I’ve got a collar to, written on it, “willing”. Why am I still holding on.
She was the willful type. Strong and independent – at least on the outside. And most of the time, the outside was all they saw. Alone, she trembled in fear and confusion. For on the inside, the will disappeared and she was slowly piecing herself back together.
I willfully did that. At the time I didn’t know he was manipulating me. I thought it was love. I was young and stupid. It’s even more painful to know that, after so many years, I still have a soft spot for him. I can understand why he’d laugh at me. He manipulated me then… he doesn’t even have to try to manipulate me now. I’m a sucker for him. I can see that. But a part of me is just stuck in that teenager who had a huge crush on him. Wish that part of me would grow up too.
My dog Isabelle is a willful animal. She has the stubborn mind to look back at me and then stare off into the unknown ahead of her. They say dogs cannot think, but I wonder if they would change their mind if they saw her in action.
I am often known as a willful child. Sometimes I think that this is a good thing but other times I know that they mean it as an insult. But I really love being a willful girl. It means that I am strong and independent and that I don’t need anyone watching out for me. But there are social standards that tell me that this is wrong and girls should be meek and do as they are told.
“Joseph, I know you far too well.”
“Do you, now?”
Jefferson leaned forward in her chair. It creaked slightly, like it was attempting to breathe, its cushion serving as a lung. She smiled at the grungy man, handcuffed to the table.
“I know when you willfully commit a crime and when you don’t,” she mused. “You’ve had your fair share of whoopsies.”
“But this time?”
“Fraud is the most willful crime of all.”