Each different area, tundra, desert, forest, have their own animals with different camouflage, like lions in grasslands, frogs in trees, and chickens in a feathered pillow.
As I sat on the cold, wing-back chair, the haze in the room darkening, I could hear the screeching wind roaring against the windows. The air gave a chill. The atmosphere outside, full of colors that blended like sleep. I listened to that screeching and thought of my own deep within. My hurts, my brokeness, camouflaged in guilt and shame. Yet, Jesus- Jesus has washed me in righteousness and the sins are no longer there.
There they were deep in the forest waiting for the word to be given. David glanced around to see Mike and Stubbins arguing, both had their guns down as they took their attention off the mission.
I run down the wet brick road, trying to get away. I take cover next to some dark trash bags in a nearby alley. I’m camouflaged thanks to my black coat. He runs straight pass me. What did he want from me?
Suddenly, he stops, turning around slowly; I can see the shiny pistol in his hand. I try to find something to defend myself with, but in doing so, one of the trashcans falls over with a loud, metallic clang.
He spots me and I’m on the run again. Why doesn’t he just shoot?
Him. He is camouflage. My family is camouflage. It’s a big secret. It’s just hidden where no one can see it. Why can’t we see it? We just can’t. It’s not supposed to be seen. From military family members to secrets, it’s all camouflage. Will anyone ever see it? Will anyone ever understand it? Yes. Yes they will. Some already know. Some will never know because they aren’t supposed to know. My uncle is camouflage. I am camouflage. My grandpa is camouflage. The dog tags hanging from my rearview mirror show camouflage. The combat boots my uncle is giving me, they have a reason. They have a past. They have a future. It’s all camouflaged until the time is right. Everyone is a soldier. We are all camouflaged.
I own camo boots. I wear them to feed the animals, fix the fence, to go bird hunting, deer hunting, to drive a four-wheeler through thick spring mud. My boots are insulated. Sized for a child because the boots in the women’s section were just too big. They match a tattered long-sleeved t-shirt, Mossy Oak worn under bib overalls, tan Carhartts, and a chocolate brown Carhartt coat. These were gifts–all were. 17? 18? Birthday, maybe. He gave them to me. Least romantic gifts I could imagine. And after all these years, like him, they keep me warm in snow and wind and rain. I liked to wear them around my parents back then, my parents with up-turned noses, judgement. I’d strut around in a blaze-orange cap. Warmed by love and camouflage. Thankful, now, to not be hidden. Knowing, still, with him, the gift: I do not ever have to hide.
Camouflage, the art of blending into the background. I have not mastered that art. Everyday of my life consists of hiding behind lockers and migrating in big groups of sweaty teenagers to get away from you. I see you and I sprint in the other direction. I try to seek out spots that are impossible to find, but you discover me. I can’t run from you, I can’t seem to shake you off. Even when you’re not around, I know you’re somehow there. Haunting me, teasing me, ruining me. No matter where I am, you will always be there. Breathing down my neck as I try not to tremble. Whispering in my ear as I try not to sob. Running your hands up and down the sides of my body as I try not to puke. You are there and there is nothing I can do to stop you. I can’t fight, I can’t scream, I can’t do anything. I have no camouflage, I have no disguise. I am always left open for the taking. You always find me.
She blends in. You wouldn’t know that she was there unless someone pointed her out. Her smile: just as fake as all the others. Her makeup is an attempt to hide the imperfections she doesn’t have; just like everyone else. Camouflage means to blend in, but it doesn’t take Mossy Oak to hide in plain sight. Just sit there. Quietly. Patiently. Intently. Hide. Or, you could put on the bright orange. Stand out. Who cares if you don’t “blend in?” No one has ever been noticed for being normal. Being yourself, however? That’s the the golden ticket, or should I say, the “orange ticket” to being noticed. That is the ticket, to being YOU.
brown. green. tan. boots big enough to fit a grown man, even though I am only seven. Dad hands me two pairs of socks–to keep my boots up. The smell of the hard Carhartt material invades my nostrils as he hands the jacket. camouflage. I am invincible.
Camouflaging your pain under that fake smile like a professional. Your smile just seems to blend in with the rest of the crowd when really it’s just a cheap, fake article of cryptic coloration. Nobody will ever seen your pain with the smile from which you hid it behind so well.
The coward’s armor; for those who prefer taking a less personal approach. The type of people who feel that being seen is reason for fear. It’s thinking that exposure lessens the rate of survival. Maybe some things should stay hidden, but why bother hiding everything?
What do you feel when everyone around you is happy but you are not? What do you feel when something goes wrong or you make someone feel awkward to be around? You feel camouflage. You feel like you can’t be seen. That is how anyone feels! They will one minute be alive as can be, but something goes wrong and you get into that mode. Where nothing or no one can see you. You are camouflage.
Hiding in the corner. Blending in with the wall. Struggling to not be seen. You need some kind of camouflage in order to be successful. In order to endure this wasteland they call life. You need camouflage.
To most people camo is more of a color. but to me i see it more as something you do to hide your self. like everyone has their own inner camouflage that hides their true story. Camouflage isn’t just a color but a feeling of secret and like you can hide things that you don’t want anyone to see.
Dissolving. Blending into crowded hallways–you’re one of us, now. You don’t have a choice; you’re skin is a mess of leaves and fallen trees, blending into the scenery. They can’t see you–no one really can.
I know the goal was to blend in, but maybe you did it too well.
Hiding. I hide myself in my thoughts and emotions, thinking that if I can hide well enough know one will ever know the pain I feel the emotional pain I have let go on for years. No more now I’m done hiding.
It takes a minute to get in tune: overshooting, then calibrating, then wrapping the misfire into the ruse with a sly smile. Her camouflage is subtle, full of lilts and tilts of the chin, glances to the right people at the right time.
The kids can’t wear camouflage to school. It’s been this way since 1999 when school administrators decided that one way to thwart a would-be gunman is to ban military-type attire. Much to the chagrin of the rest of the student body, those who wouldn’t touch a weapon outside of a Call of Duty game, their wishes to disappear would need to be accomplished by different means.
lighting and needless words. Blend thorououghly like mixed paste. Over and over the same area. Apply twice for better results. Until we become a part of the wall. No. We are the wall. Another being. We trandscended but disappeared.
i cant see anything. anyone any fun any done I am done with yo uaend that bullshit i justy need to write werite werrteitei so i AN CAN CAN CAN CAN BE WAHT I hneed to be
obviously
trees in the sea for me by green blue red uydellow organe
door hgingere beginning of the beginning of the middle of the end of the sun is rising again .
Their drill sergeant gave no warning. 4am, an hour before their morning run, the barracks door slammed back against the wall. The soldiers jumped to attention, naked save for their tight white briefs. Their sergeant took long determined steps towards Cooper and Jones, who looked particularly disheveled. There were rumours about them. DADT was no longer the law, but Sarg had made it clear fairies did not belong. Someone coughed hard, drawing his eyes away. Jones quickly wiped evidence from his hand and mouthed a quiet ‘thanks’.
“Ready?” The man asked me, a rifle in his hand.
“I’m not too sure…” I trailed off and looked into the distance, I couldn’t do this and I was hardly in the right attire for the mission. The solider was in full camo gear, whereas I was stuck in a civilian style outfit which made me stick out more than I would like.
The mission was simple, well that is what they keep saying. In reality it could get me killed.
It wasn’t easily apparent in the dark of the alleyway. The thing was hiding from me. I started, with much resignation, to move the trash around. After an hour, and much stink, I let the five dollars go.
Every day I feel strange different from people sometimes I just want to run I just want to be in camouflage away from everything just to be alone in the clouds my camouflage it warms me I feel in home nice and toasty ahh home I wish I could fly through the clouds jump trough the clouds feel camouflaged feel free alone in home but I can’t and that’s why I bought a jet pack
Standing in the forest, all I could hear was the wind rustling through the leaves of the bushes nearby. My clothes were hopefully a sufficient camouflage, because I truly couldn’t help but fear my chances if I were caught. Suddenly I felt a warm breath on the back of my neck and I spun around.
Listen. We can grow here. Live here. Not care here. They can’t see us-and why should they? They don’t care about us-and why should they? We can eat here, sleep here, live here, do what we what, here: we can be ourselves.
I looked up carefully. Camouflage. Yes. That’s what I needed-some kind of fantastic, invisible camouflage. No one would look at me. I could do what I wanted without worrying about the constant glares of others.
we were not happy but we knew how to play at looking like we were. ask questions like “how’s your mother?” and “have you been doing well?” our faces were not masks. masks couldn’t change. couldn’t bend shape to convince someone of their authenticity. we laughed the sound of bells from the bottom of our stomachs, because we knew pain, and because we knew what it felt like before it came. and we’d give anything not to give it to someone else.
What can I say what can I do I am surrounded. They are invisible to me, expertly hidden amongst the thick foliage of the jungle floor. They must not know where I am yet though, I am going to have to keep low and out of sight.
hi
Each different area, tundra, desert, forest, have their own animals with different camouflage, like lions in grasslands, frogs in trees, and chickens in a feathered pillow.
hunting hiding among finding loosing killing watching green clothes shoes making a part of something else
As I sat on the cold, wing-back chair, the haze in the room darkening, I could hear the screeching wind roaring against the windows. The air gave a chill. The atmosphere outside, full of colors that blended like sleep. I listened to that screeching and thought of my own deep within. My hurts, my brokeness, camouflaged in guilt and shame. Yet, Jesus- Jesus has washed me in righteousness and the sins are no longer there.
Hiding among the stars. Being capable to shine just as bright. But why be average when we all know you can be much brighter?!
A mixing of colors that will help you blend in to your are. Generally brown green tan and black and blue to help with every terrain color.
When she wore her camouflage pants, her sister made fun of her and accused her of being a hillbilly.
There they were deep in the forest waiting for the word to be given. David glanced around to see Mike and Stubbins arguing, both had their guns down as they took their attention off the mission.
The camouflage made Peeta look like he was part of the rock. Katniss nearly walked on him. She was so happy when she saw him. Love is love.
I run down the wet brick road, trying to get away. I take cover next to some dark trash bags in a nearby alley. I’m camouflaged thanks to my black coat. He runs straight pass me. What did he want from me?
Suddenly, he stops, turning around slowly; I can see the shiny pistol in his hand. I try to find something to defend myself with, but in doing so, one of the trashcans falls over with a loud, metallic clang.
He spots me and I’m on the run again. Why doesn’t he just shoot?
Him. He is camouflage. My family is camouflage. It’s a big secret. It’s just hidden where no one can see it. Why can’t we see it? We just can’t. It’s not supposed to be seen. From military family members to secrets, it’s all camouflage. Will anyone ever see it? Will anyone ever understand it? Yes. Yes they will. Some already know. Some will never know because they aren’t supposed to know. My uncle is camouflage. I am camouflage. My grandpa is camouflage. The dog tags hanging from my rearview mirror show camouflage. The combat boots my uncle is giving me, they have a reason. They have a past. They have a future. It’s all camouflaged until the time is right. Everyone is a soldier. We are all camouflaged.
I own camo boots. I wear them to feed the animals, fix the fence, to go bird hunting, deer hunting, to drive a four-wheeler through thick spring mud. My boots are insulated. Sized for a child because the boots in the women’s section were just too big. They match a tattered long-sleeved t-shirt, Mossy Oak worn under bib overalls, tan Carhartts, and a chocolate brown Carhartt coat. These were gifts–all were. 17? 18? Birthday, maybe. He gave them to me. Least romantic gifts I could imagine. And after all these years, like him, they keep me warm in snow and wind and rain. I liked to wear them around my parents back then, my parents with up-turned noses, judgement. I’d strut around in a blaze-orange cap. Warmed by love and camouflage. Thankful, now, to not be hidden. Knowing, still, with him, the gift: I do not ever have to hide.
Camouflage, the art of blending into the background. I have not mastered that art. Everyday of my life consists of hiding behind lockers and migrating in big groups of sweaty teenagers to get away from you. I see you and I sprint in the other direction. I try to seek out spots that are impossible to find, but you discover me. I can’t run from you, I can’t seem to shake you off. Even when you’re not around, I know you’re somehow there. Haunting me, teasing me, ruining me. No matter where I am, you will always be there. Breathing down my neck as I try not to tremble. Whispering in my ear as I try not to sob. Running your hands up and down the sides of my body as I try not to puke. You are there and there is nothing I can do to stop you. I can’t fight, I can’t scream, I can’t do anything. I have no camouflage, I have no disguise. I am always left open for the taking. You always find me.
She blends in. You wouldn’t know that she was there unless someone pointed her out. Her smile: just as fake as all the others. Her makeup is an attempt to hide the imperfections she doesn’t have; just like everyone else. Camouflage means to blend in, but it doesn’t take Mossy Oak to hide in plain sight. Just sit there. Quietly. Patiently. Intently. Hide. Or, you could put on the bright orange. Stand out. Who cares if you don’t “blend in?” No one has ever been noticed for being normal. Being yourself, however? That’s the the golden ticket, or should I say, the “orange ticket” to being noticed. That is the ticket, to being YOU.
brown. green. tan. boots big enough to fit a grown man, even though I am only seven. Dad hands me two pairs of socks–to keep my boots up. The smell of the hard Carhartt material invades my nostrils as he hands the jacket. camouflage. I am invincible.
At least, that’s what I thought.
Camouflaging your pain under that fake smile like a professional. Your smile just seems to blend in with the rest of the crowd when really it’s just a cheap, fake article of cryptic coloration. Nobody will ever seen your pain with the smile from which you hid it behind so well.
The coward’s armor; for those who prefer taking a less personal approach. The type of people who feel that being seen is reason for fear. It’s thinking that exposure lessens the rate of survival. Maybe some things should stay hidden, but why bother hiding everything?
What do you feel when everyone around you is happy but you are not? What do you feel when something goes wrong or you make someone feel awkward to be around? You feel camouflage. You feel like you can’t be seen. That is how anyone feels! They will one minute be alive as can be, but something goes wrong and you get into that mode. Where nothing or no one can see you. You are camouflage.
Hiding in the corner. Blending in with the wall. Struggling to not be seen. You need some kind of camouflage in order to be successful. In order to endure this wasteland they call life. You need camouflage.
Hidden from sight, you don’t see a thing. Hidden from mind, you’ll never know I existed. Hidden from yourself, you never knew anything was wrong.
I see camouflage everywhere. You use camouflage to hide yourself from the world and the mean people of the world like in the woods.
To most people camo is more of a color. but to me i see it more as something you do to hide your self. like everyone has their own inner camouflage that hides their true story. Camouflage isn’t just a color but a feeling of secret and like you can hide things that you don’t want anyone to see.
Dissolving. Blending into crowded hallways–you’re one of us, now. You don’t have a choice; you’re skin is a mess of leaves and fallen trees, blending into the scenery. They can’t see you–no one really can.
I know the goal was to blend in, but maybe you did it too well.
Hiding. I hide myself in my thoughts and emotions, thinking that if I can hide well enough know one will ever know the pain I feel the emotional pain I have let go on for years. No more now I’m done hiding.
If camouflage is something you can’t see, then from now on, the rest of my story will be camouflaged.
It takes a minute to get in tune: overshooting, then calibrating, then wrapping the misfire into the ruse with a sly smile. Her camouflage is subtle, full of lilts and tilts of the chin, glances to the right people at the right time.
The kids can’t wear camouflage to school. It’s been this way since 1999 when school administrators decided that one way to thwart a would-be gunman is to ban military-type attire. Much to the chagrin of the rest of the student body, those who wouldn’t touch a weapon outside of a Call of Duty game, their wishes to disappear would need to be accomplished by different means.
she would always be a sore toe, a hang nail, a loose tooth.
lighting and needless words. Blend thorououghly like mixed paste. Over and over the same area. Apply twice for better results. Until we become a part of the wall. No. We are the wall. Another being. We trandscended but disappeared.
i cant see anything. anyone any fun any done I am done with yo uaend that bullshit i justy need to write werite werrteitei so i AN CAN CAN CAN CAN BE WAHT I hneed to be
obviously
trees in the sea for me by green blue red uydellow organe
door hgingere beginning of the beginning of the middle of the end of the sun is rising again .
Their drill sergeant gave no warning. 4am, an hour before their morning run, the barracks door slammed back against the wall. The soldiers jumped to attention, naked save for their tight white briefs. Their sergeant took long determined steps towards Cooper and Jones, who looked particularly disheveled. There were rumours about them. DADT was no longer the law, but Sarg had made it clear fairies did not belong. Someone coughed hard, drawing his eyes away. Jones quickly wiped evidence from his hand and mouthed a quiet ‘thanks’.
“Ready?” The man asked me, a rifle in his hand.
“I’m not too sure…” I trailed off and looked into the distance, I couldn’t do this and I was hardly in the right attire for the mission. The solider was in full camo gear, whereas I was stuck in a civilian style outfit which made me stick out more than I would like.
The mission was simple, well that is what they keep saying. In reality it could get me killed.
It wasn’t easily apparent in the dark of the alleyway. The thing was hiding from me. I started, with much resignation, to move the trash around. After an hour, and much stink, I let the five dollars go.
Every day I feel strange different from people sometimes I just want to run I just want to be in camouflage away from everything just to be alone in the clouds my camouflage it warms me I feel in home nice and toasty ahh home I wish I could fly through the clouds jump trough the clouds feel camouflaged feel free alone in home but I can’t and that’s why I bought a jet pack
Standing in the forest, all I could hear was the wind rustling through the leaves of the bushes nearby. My clothes were hopefully a sufficient camouflage, because I truly couldn’t help but fear my chances if I were caught. Suddenly I felt a warm breath on the back of my neck and I spun around.
Today I was on army class and todays lesson was camouflage.
Listen. We can grow here. Live here. Not care here. They can’t see us-and why should they? They don’t care about us-and why should they? We can eat here, sleep here, live here, do what we what, here: we can be ourselves.
I looked up carefully. Camouflage. Yes. That’s what I needed-some kind of fantastic, invisible camouflage. No one would look at me. I could do what I wanted without worrying about the constant glares of others.
we were not happy but we knew how to play at looking like we were. ask questions like “how’s your mother?” and “have you been doing well?” our faces were not masks. masks couldn’t change. couldn’t bend shape to convince someone of their authenticity. we laughed the sound of bells from the bottom of our stomachs, because we knew pain, and because we knew what it felt like before it came. and we’d give anything not to give it to someone else.
What can I say what can I do I am surrounded. They are invisible to me, expertly hidden amongst the thick foliage of the jungle floor. They must not know where I am yet though, I am going to have to keep low and out of sight.