wrapped is a word that seems so much more complicated than it really is. But we have to look at this word and think of all the ways it can apply. Whether wrapped in love or a sweater, we are wrapped in the world.
how do i love you? well let me see, i love you like a lyric loves a melody. maybe, completely, wrapped up in you. these beautiful words are from Garth Brooks. a beautiful man who made country music the best it can be.
the paper was sticky and brown, well it had bits of brown glued to it in the summer heat, sticky and resin-like, yuck it was fucking disgusting. Seriously i was sick of all the sweets and beats with their heady conversation just like bled old shoes. yuck.
For her friends birthday party, the girl carefully picked out a gift that her friend would love. She paid for it at the cash register and went home. Upon arriving home, she threw her purse down and went to the closet and got out wrapping paper and wrapped the gift perfectly. She knew she had found the absolute perfect gift for her friend. There was no other like it.
and she was so wrapped up in her own little lies, in her own act, that all that became of reality unravelled until this story wrapped her in foil, insulating from the words that she spoke and the words others knifed at her
the first thing that comes to mind is the police car my father wrapped around a telephone pole while in pursuit of a man with a gun call at a bar. a woman hit him
i wrapped myself in the comfort of her barbed wire arms and waited for the helicopter to take us out of here. the wave had hit without warning, swept us from our home, our safety, our comfort as though we were flys on a screen.
i loved it when he would wrap his arms around me. wrapped up, all snug in his perfectly-tight embrace. i knew he was programmed to apply the just-right amount of pressure, but i still believe there was true emotion, not just computerized feeling, behind this gesture.
It is never smart to dive directly into the ocean. In seconds even a tiny wave a pull you down and wrap you in it; I did this once as I child and I can say, that even though the surface was only a few inches above my head, that cocoon felt like it would kill me.
You may bestow to my face the title Richard of the house of James, wench. Dost my gaze lie to mine mind? Durst not! T’is my companion, Charles of the house Murphy!
i wrapped my arms around her. she was cold like always. she used to tease me about being a teddy bear mixed with a heated blanket. i could always warm her up. but as we grew older, she became more serious about the heat. she would hold me close when she felt pain, when she needed to feel real, and when she needed to feel like nothing else mattered but our hearts beating.
She wrapped the present, folding the corners perfectly into equilateral triangles. For some reason she was always good at that. She looked at the mirror and sighed at her perfectly wrapped present, too perfect.
wrapped in plastic with no exit. bubble wrap that keeps on poppin. pop corn ghost? you’re back! how could you!? stay away from me! butter on your popcorn? no thank you.
wrapped in plastic with no exit. bubble wrap that keeps on poppin. pop corn ghost? you’re back! how could you!? stay away from me! butter on your pop corn. no thank you.
wrapped in bubble paper, the man was starting to suffocate. He knew he had to get it away from his face or he would pass out. The tiny bubbles popped as he tried to get free, but the plastic never loosened it’s grip. He was beginning to feel sick and light-headed. Finally he got a hand free from behind his back and grasped at the plastic wrapped around his face. Bubbles burst as he clawed at the tight wrap.
I was wrapped up in all of this drama, confounding and terrible. I thought that nobody had ever felt like me. I was tangled up in it. Drowning in it. It strangled me. I just wanted it all to be over, before something terrible happened.
I know she is alive, her eyes are open, bloodshot and red. Her body rocks with the carriage as if they are one. I want to ask her why she has wrapped her jacket around her head, why is her mouth covered, is she holding back an unspekable truth? Does she have no lips at all? Can she smell something that no one else can, that we have all become accustomed too? The stench of failure the putrid smell of rotting dreams? maybe she is secretly picking her nose.
The only man sat on his porch rocking. He sat and watched the sun come up and then go down again. Briefly taking time out as he wrapped his lips around his old corn cob pipe.
You left me a present beneath the tree.
It felt like a crime to tear off the wrapping.
A decoration meant to be destroyed.
A present in itself broken.
Torn to shreds.
I found rice and boiled pork wrapped in a banana leaf that smelled like dead fish. This might be what people in Vietnam eat, but there was no way it was getting past my nose.
all wrong, totally wrong. The lettuce fell out the sides and the beans and cheese oozed into my lap. Someone please teach that young guy behind the counter how to wrap a burrito.
wrapped in broken wings tinged with black,
she chose darkness, didn’t believe she could go back.
she thought that once there was blood spilled
all her dreams would be left, unfulfilled.
She huddled under her warm covers at night,
The only place she could cry out of sight.
Everyday she wore a mask of strength,
stopping the tears not a moment to late.
Every night when she gave in and began to weep,
All she could do was sing herself to sleep.
It was the only place she truly felt secure,
as she sang in a voice that was sweet and pure.
As the lyrics began to work there magic,
suddenly, things weren’t so tragic.
She could almost believe that things would be okay,
that the world might be more than just black and gray.
Music became her lifeline, the only thing that kept her trying,
it was a want, a need, the only thing that could stop the crying.
presents, me wrapped in glad wrap waliking down the runway during fashion week,my stilletto heel breaks, as i land on bubble wrap, beating the world record of the fastest falinng in the world……
I think of a present. I think of when you wake up on Christmas morning to find all of your gifts wrapped so nice and neatly under the tree. It seems criminal to tear apart the wrapping because it’s so beautiful and such an effort was put into it. It’s a decoration that is meant to be destroyed.
his arms always had been the safest place for her. after every breakup she’d ever had, her best friend was always there to wrap her up in his arms and hold her and console her and remind her that everything would be okay. she finally realized that his arms where were she belonged.
Wrapped in love, in warmth, in healing light,
we spend our childhoods deep in heaven’s sight.
And then when we are down to mystic ounces,
reality breathes hot and hard– and pounces.
I am wrapped in the web of complications and lies.
My own being has constricted my freedom.
I am no longer myself.
I am just like every other con man.
I am human.
I talked to him all night. He wrapped me in a sense of warmth, and I was content enough to let him talk. I didn’t want to be with him. I didn’t want to love him. But he’d worn me down and after what felt like the hundredth rejection I didn’t feel like I deserved anything better. So I lay and let him wrap me up in the notion that he’s this perfect friend just waiting for a chance, not foolish or selfish or jealous, and if he gets mad at me that’s my own damn fault after all. It’s what I’ve earned.
My mind is wrapped right now. Wrapped with ideas of right and wrong. Wrapped with the notion that I may be done for. My young career as an adult over before it even started. What have I done? Will it all be okay?
wrapped. I hardly even know what that means. Why am I writing this? Will it improve my writing? I’m not sure. I don’t even know what to write about. This reminds me of MJ’s 12th grade English class. This is pointless.
wrapped is a word that seems so much more complicated than it really is. But we have to look at this word and think of all the ways it can apply. Whether wrapped in love or a sweater, we are wrapped in the world.
how do i love you? well let me see, i love you like a lyric loves a melody. maybe, completely, wrapped up in you. these beautiful words are from Garth Brooks. a beautiful man who made country music the best it can be.
the paper was sticky and brown, well it had bits of brown glued to it in the summer heat, sticky and resin-like, yuck it was fucking disgusting. Seriously i was sick of all the sweets and beats with their heady conversation just like bled old shoes. yuck.
For her friends birthday party, the girl carefully picked out a gift that her friend would love. She paid for it at the cash register and went home. Upon arriving home, she threw her purse down and went to the closet and got out wrapping paper and wrapped the gift perfectly. She knew she had found the absolute perfect gift for her friend. There was no other like it.
and she was so wrapped up in her own little lies, in her own act, that all that became of reality unravelled until this story wrapped her in foil, insulating from the words that she spoke and the words others knifed at her
There she lay wrapped between my thighs, screaming something about the lunch lady and her mom.
the first thing that comes to mind is the police car my father wrapped around a telephone pole while in pursuit of a man with a gun call at a bar. a woman hit him
i wrapped myself in the comfort of her barbed wire arms and waited for the helicopter to take us out of here. the wave had hit without warning, swept us from our home, our safety, our comfort as though we were flys on a screen.
i loved it when he would wrap his arms around me. wrapped up, all snug in his perfectly-tight embrace. i knew he was programmed to apply the just-right amount of pressure, but i still believe there was true emotion, not just computerized feeling, behind this gesture.
It is never smart to dive directly into the ocean. In seconds even a tiny wave a pull you down and wrap you in it; I did this once as I child and I can say, that even though the surface was only a few inches above my head, that cocoon felt like it would kill me.
wrapped up in brightly colored paper, the child’s gift holds greater value unwrapped.
There it sat, wrapped in mystery. Waiting for my hands. I ran to it, and tore off its fresh red seal. It was magical.
You may bestow to my face the title Richard of the house of James, wench. Dost my gaze lie to mine mind? Durst not! T’is my companion, Charles of the house Murphy!
i wrapped my arms around her. she was cold like always. she used to tease me about being a teddy bear mixed with a heated blanket. i could always warm her up. but as we grew older, she became more serious about the heat. she would hold me close when she felt pain, when she needed to feel real, and when she needed to feel like nothing else mattered but our hearts beating.
She wrapped the present, folding the corners perfectly into equilateral triangles. For some reason she was always good at that. She looked at the mirror and sighed at her perfectly wrapped present, too perfect.
wrapped in plastic with no exit. bubble wrap that keeps on poppin. pop corn ghost? you’re back! how could you!? stay away from me! butter on your popcorn? no thank you.
wrapped in plastic with no exit. bubble wrap that keeps on poppin. pop corn ghost? you’re back! how could you!? stay away from me! butter on your pop corn. no thank you.
wrapped in bubble paper, the man was starting to suffocate. He knew he had to get it away from his face or he would pass out. The tiny bubbles popped as he tried to get free, but the plastic never loosened it’s grip. He was beginning to feel sick and light-headed. Finally he got a hand free from behind his back and grasped at the plastic wrapped around his face. Bubbles burst as he clawed at the tight wrap.
I was wrapped up in all of this drama, confounding and terrible. I thought that nobody had ever felt like me. I was tangled up in it. Drowning in it. It strangled me. I just wanted it all to be over, before something terrible happened.
presents all the time
maybe a car
possibly chocolate
either way they all are good
some taste better than others
delightful
I know she is alive, her eyes are open, bloodshot and red. Her body rocks with the carriage as if they are one. I want to ask her why she has wrapped her jacket around her head, why is her mouth covered, is she holding back an unspekable truth? Does she have no lips at all? Can she smell something that no one else can, that we have all become accustomed too? The stench of failure the putrid smell of rotting dreams? maybe she is secretly picking her nose.
The only man sat on his porch rocking. He sat and watched the sun come up and then go down again. Briefly taking time out as he wrapped his lips around his old corn cob pipe.
wrapped up in a blaket, wrapped in a book, wrapped up in life, in love, in freindship and peace.
You left me a present beneath the tree.
It felt like a crime to tear off the wrapping.
A decoration meant to be destroyed.
A present in itself broken.
Torn to shreds.
I found rice and boiled pork wrapped in a banana leaf that smelled like dead fish. This might be what people in Vietnam eat, but there was no way it was getting past my nose.
all wrong, totally wrong. The lettuce fell out the sides and the beans and cheese oozed into my lap. Someone please teach that young guy behind the counter how to wrap a burrito.
wrapped in broken wings tinged with black,
she chose darkness, didn’t believe she could go back.
she thought that once there was blood spilled
all her dreams would be left, unfulfilled.
She huddled under her warm covers at night,
The only place she could cry out of sight.
Everyday she wore a mask of strength,
stopping the tears not a moment to late.
Every night when she gave in and began to weep,
All she could do was sing herself to sleep.
It was the only place she truly felt secure,
as she sang in a voice that was sweet and pure.
As the lyrics began to work there magic,
suddenly, things weren’t so tragic.
She could almost believe that things would be okay,
that the world might be more than just black and gray.
Music became her lifeline, the only thing that kept her trying,
it was a want, a need, the only thing that could stop the crying.
presents, me wrapped in glad wrap waliking down the runway during fashion week,my stilletto heel breaks, as i land on bubble wrap, beating the world record of the fastest falinng in the world……
i was wrapped in his arms smelling t his scent of wood and pine mixing with the scent of soap and fresh clean sheets.
I think of a present. I think of when you wake up on Christmas morning to find all of your gifts wrapped so nice and neatly under the tree. It seems criminal to tear apart the wrapping because it’s so beautiful and such an effort was put into it. It’s a decoration that is meant to be destroyed.
his arms always had been the safest place for her. after every breakup she’d ever had, her best friend was always there to wrap her up in his arms and hold her and console her and remind her that everything would be okay. she finally realized that his arms where were she belonged.
Wrapped in love, in warmth, in healing light,
we spend our childhoods deep in heaven’s sight.
And then when we are down to mystic ounces,
reality breathes hot and hard– and pounces.
people are wrapped in their masks, and feelings, and emotions.
I am wrapped in the web of complications and lies.
My own being has constricted my freedom.
I am no longer myself.
I am just like every other con man.
I am human.
God, lay still, wrapped in plastic like a piece of yesterdays meat. A Carnivore…
covered, enveloped, hugged. A gift can be wrapped in attractive paper. A plot wrapped in mystery.
I talked to him all night. He wrapped me in a sense of warmth, and I was content enough to let him talk. I didn’t want to be with him. I didn’t want to love him. But he’d worn me down and after what felt like the hundredth rejection I didn’t feel like I deserved anything better. So I lay and let him wrap me up in the notion that he’s this perfect friend just waiting for a chance, not foolish or selfish or jealous, and if he gets mad at me that’s my own damn fault after all. It’s what I’ve earned.
My mind is wrapped right now. Wrapped with ideas of right and wrong. Wrapped with the notion that I may be done for. My young career as an adult over before it even started. What have I done? Will it all be okay?
wrapped. I hardly even know what that means. Why am I writing this? Will it improve my writing? I’m not sure. I don’t even know what to write about. This reminds me of MJ’s 12th grade English class. This is pointless.
wondering where i am. what are these bandages? cant see they’re over my eyes, and they built this for me. im wrapped.