Wrong. You failed the test. Again. You didn’t even know it was possible to have so much red ink, so many x’s, on one sheet of paper. But there it is. A big fat “F,” right at the top.
she was wrong, I did in fact love her. How could I not? Those placid blue eyes that stared back at me reflecting the deepest secrets of her soul were too much to resist. She was wrong in saying that shes not beautiful. I wish she could see herself as I do, and the rest of the world does.
I knew it was wrong the moment he scratched a circle against the edge of my nail. Just a thumb. A nail on a thumb and a scratch. I knew it was wrong. But I did not move, and my back pressed harder against the wall.
Wrong? Who me? No, I’m never wrong. Always have it pulled together. I know the answers, I work hard to achieve the highest level of success. Wrong? Are you kidding me? I can’t be wrong, I WON’T be wrong. You must be mistaken. I’ve never been wrong. I’m perfect…right?
I don’t think I did it but you say you’re always right why can’t I be the person who makes the right decisions why do you correct me and why do I need your validation why can’t I be sure of myself and double check myself to your approval you say I never keep my eyes out of your world well I can’t help and I don’t know if it’s wrong but I know it’s not right the things you’ve done to me I can’t be the person you want so maybe I’m wrong maybe I’m wrong maybe im the wrong person for you I know you’re the right one for me so let’s wait a while and work out the things we think we can’t the things that stay wrong that we can’t really solve baby you’re not the only one for me but you’re the only one I want maybe I’m wrong maybe I’m wrong maybe I’m the wrong person for you
It’s like I’m having an existential crisis. Everything I do is wrong, and I can’t figure out how to fix it. I’ve been playing this game of cat and mouse with someone who couldn’t care less about me; but if it’s wrong, why does it feel so good.
Upon reflection, I’ve made some poor choices in my time. When those choices combine with bad luck, bad timing and being in the wrong place at the wrong time… Well. One that comes to mind in crystal clarity is turning around in my quiet hotel room to find a pair of armed security guards pointing their glocks at me. A LONG story but all a big misunderstanding I assure you!
What is wrong? How wrong is that? That is just so wrong. Actually, I can think of a few things that are just so wrong. Things that are not right, that’s not right. Or fair. Why is it some people get away with murder (literally and figuratively) while the ones who play by the rules end up with the shaft. That’s just wrong.
My boyfriend hates to be wrong. He always takes it so personally when I try to challenge him on something. He thinks he’s a now it all. But don’t tell him that; he’ll just tell you you’re jealous of his intellegence.
Would it be so wrong for me to say that I like you? Would it really hurt anything? Because really, what is there to lose? But I would never do that, I don’t have the guts.
The thing about doing something the right way, is that you never get to have fun along the way. You never get into trouble. Never have to lie your way out of a due date that went unfulfilled. Never have to experience that feeling in the pit of your stomach. The one that says, “You are an idiot.” Personally, I think being wrong is good for a person. Not because it’s a learning experience, but because it’s way too boring to always be right.
I am wrong for writing this because my word is wrong and so therefore everything that I write will be wrong. Because this is such a paradox, and anything right is wrong, then everything wrong must be right. (?) I’m not so sure how this works, but perhaps in a real life situation it might not prove as sensisble as it does here. Oh well.
I spit out the words,
stings against my tongue,
they hide within them thirds
of half-truths I’ve flung.
Bile swells at such carefree lies,
so wrong how easy they do fly.
it is wrong to support the guilty.
it is right to support the free.
it is wrong to acknowledge the ugly.
it is right to accept the clean.
it is wrong to speak aloud;
it is right to whisper rebellion.
You were wrong. She was wrong. Everyone was wrong. I wasn’t perfect, I couldn’t do everything, I couldn’t do this. Especially not this. I had overestimated my abilities just like everyone else and here I was, running away once again. You told me I could do it but you were wrong.
this was all wrong. it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. dalia was supposed to come in through the door, see the cake, jump in shock when everyone surprised her and screamed “happy birthday.” she wasn’t supposed to trip on the corner of the rug. she wasn’t supposed to hit her head on the corner of the table. the sirens weren’t supposed to screech down the street and the rug wasn’t supposed to be that color red.
my parents say i do so many things wrong. cookie cutter me. applied to college wrong. did my school work wrong. did the chores wrong. worst of all, loved my girl wrong. said the wrong thing at the wrong time. i know that. not smart enough. not good enough. not pretty enough. not skinny enough. it’s all wrong. i’m all wrong. trying to figure it all out but i’m figuring it the wrong way. wrong answers.
Wrong, you say.
Well, I’ll take your wrong and see it with a heaping pile of ‘I don’t give a damn.”
Quite frankly, I find you and all of your petty morals to be quite the nuisance and if you don’t stop, well, I might just have to get up from this WONDERFULLY prepared meal, walk over to you as I slowly wipe the grease from my lips, and say
“You’re next.”
Everything about the scene was wrong. The blood on the floor and walls, the man lying at her feet, the gun stick bouncing across the floor. She could still hear the report of the gunshot echoing in her ears. It made her crazy– everything about this made her crazy. This should never have happened– it COULDN’T happen– and yet it had. And she was too afraid to even pick him up and hold him, the man she loved; the one who meant everything to her.
no don’t tell me I am wrong, this will break me. I would rather find the remains of my body played across the universe than find that life has been for not. The wrong of the mind is perhaps different than the wrong of reality and perhaps we have no wronding to fear because the spaces in the reality of
I constantly worry about what the wrong thing to do in a given situation is, however the “wrong” I concern myself with isn’t a greater moral wrong, and it isn’t a selfish wrong, but rather what would be wrong for the other person in a given situation. Subsequently, I tend to attach what I think would be an imposition or wrong for them to the greater, overall aspect thus ruling out what is right or wrong for me on a regular basis. This is exhausting.
what’s wrong? everything. A song I heard in the car made me think about my friend’s death last month, I’m fighting with my boyfriend, and I just need to get away…I don’t know what I’m doing with my life or what general direction I’m going, I’m just trying to find meaning.
Wrong? How could you say I’m wrong? I’m the one who asked the question! That implicitly means I’m right once I supply the answer.
Sure, there are times when people ask the question when they don’t know the answer, but I’m the teacher and teacher ask questions they know the answers to.
Oh, hush! Don’t tell ME not to end a sentence with a preposition.
Not in the right, not right, straight up gone wrong.
Wait in line just in time or to late, wrong.
Who cares, who’s there what to wear, are you gone?
Everyone is wrong sometimes, everyone is wrong.
so wrong nothing is less wrong. how is everyone wrong? the way you learned to sit on a toilet like you don’t have legs invented especially for crouching in the wilderness. peeing in the bushes. peeing on the school you used to go to when you had friends and memories there. always have been a little bit of an outsider. man sitting with coffee cup, eating a cupcake. who the fuck eats cupcakes alone? noone. no onw
I was wrong to think that I wanted really anything to do with him. I had this grand idea about staying in the city after graduation and working on our relationship. We hadn’t even held hands at that point. I was wrong to assume. He needed me a lot more than I needed him. I’m thinking another city.
It took me many years to realize that she was wrong, so wrong so much of the time. I would never get back those years when her notion of right and wrong made me cry myself to sleep over and over and over.
Is it wrong that I want this? Is it wrong that I want what everyone around me seems to have? Maybe not in general, but sometimes I feel like whoever’s running the show thinks it’s wrong for ME. Sometimes I feel like I’m not supposed to want someone, because I’m supposed to be seeking the bigger, deeper things. But I do, and why can’t I? Who doesn’t want to be loved?
I knew I was wrong, but I kept arguing. Why couldn’t I just say that I was wrong? For once in my life I could have let the other person win the argument, I could have let him win the argument. But I didn’t, instead, I watched him walk away.
The complexity of binary subjectivism, in western cultures hegemony, has led to the negative interpretation to our own culture. Who is “right” and who is “wrong”? No one is right and no one is wrong. We are all right, in our humanity; we are all wrong, in our interaction.
“Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong!” he said. His words struck right to the core. All my work, all my efforts, he striped it bare and revealed the inadequacies underneath. I had failed him again, and this was to be my last chance. “You’re wrong. And you’ll never get it right.”
I could not have imagined that I could be so wrong. But he said I was. I thought wrong, talked wrong and behaved wrong. I was wrong, wrong, wrong in the essence of who I was.
Wrong. You failed the test. Again. You didn’t even know it was possible to have so much red ink, so many x’s, on one sheet of paper. But there it is. A big fat “F,” right at the top.
Who is to say that you are wrong. What if the wrong thing, in most situations, is the right thing for that situation. It is all relative.
she was wrong, I did in fact love her. How could I not? Those placid blue eyes that stared back at me reflecting the deepest secrets of her soul were too much to resist. She was wrong in saying that shes not beautiful. I wish she could see herself as I do, and the rest of the world does.
I knew it was wrong the moment he scratched a circle against the edge of my nail. Just a thumb. A nail on a thumb and a scratch. I knew it was wrong. But I did not move, and my back pressed harder against the wall.
Wrong? Who me? No, I’m never wrong. Always have it pulled together. I know the answers, I work hard to achieve the highest level of success. Wrong? Are you kidding me? I can’t be wrong, I WON’T be wrong. You must be mistaken. I’ve never been wrong. I’m perfect…right?
I don’t think I did it but you say you’re always right why can’t I be the person who makes the right decisions why do you correct me and why do I need your validation why can’t I be sure of myself and double check myself to your approval you say I never keep my eyes out of your world well I can’t help and I don’t know if it’s wrong but I know it’s not right the things you’ve done to me I can’t be the person you want so maybe I’m wrong maybe I’m wrong maybe im the wrong person for you I know you’re the right one for me so let’s wait a while and work out the things we think we can’t the things that stay wrong that we can’t really solve baby you’re not the only one for me but you’re the only one I want maybe I’m wrong maybe I’m wrong maybe I’m the wrong person for you
It’s like I’m having an existential crisis. Everything I do is wrong, and I can’t figure out how to fix it. I’ve been playing this game of cat and mouse with someone who couldn’t care less about me; but if it’s wrong, why does it feel so good.
It was so wrong, what she said to me. So wrong.
What alarmed me most was how easily she said it – like a mouth full of olive oil.
Hideous. Hideous creature.
Upon reflection, I’ve made some poor choices in my time. When those choices combine with bad luck, bad timing and being in the wrong place at the wrong time… Well. One that comes to mind in crystal clarity is turning around in my quiet hotel room to find a pair of armed security guards pointing their glocks at me. A LONG story but all a big misunderstanding I assure you!
What is wrong? How wrong is that? That is just so wrong. Actually, I can think of a few things that are just so wrong. Things that are not right, that’s not right. Or fair. Why is it some people get away with murder (literally and figuratively) while the ones who play by the rules end up with the shaft. That’s just wrong.
My boyfriend hates to be wrong. He always takes it so personally when I try to challenge him on something. He thinks he’s a now it all. But don’t tell him that; he’ll just tell you you’re jealous of his intellegence.
Would it be so wrong for me to say that I like you? Would it really hurt anything? Because really, what is there to lose? But I would never do that, I don’t have the guts.
The thing about doing something the right way, is that you never get to have fun along the way. You never get into trouble. Never have to lie your way out of a due date that went unfulfilled. Never have to experience that feeling in the pit of your stomach. The one that says, “You are an idiot.” Personally, I think being wrong is good for a person. Not because it’s a learning experience, but because it’s way too boring to always be right.
I am wrong for writing this because my word is wrong and so therefore everything that I write will be wrong. Because this is such a paradox, and anything right is wrong, then everything wrong must be right. (?) I’m not so sure how this works, but perhaps in a real life situation it might not prove as sensisble as it does here. Oh well.
I spit out the words,
stings against my tongue,
they hide within them thirds
of half-truths I’ve flung.
Bile swells at such carefree lies,
so wrong how easy they do fly.
it is wrong to support the guilty.
it is right to support the free.
it is wrong to acknowledge the ugly.
it is right to accept the clean.
it is wrong to speak aloud;
it is right to whisper rebellion.
You were wrong. She was wrong. Everyone was wrong. I wasn’t perfect, I couldn’t do everything, I couldn’t do this. Especially not this. I had overestimated my abilities just like everyone else and here I was, running away once again. You told me I could do it but you were wrong.
I am never wrong. Its a fact of life. My family and friends have come to accept it. Even when I am wrong, I am right. Just deal with it.
this was all wrong. it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. dalia was supposed to come in through the door, see the cake, jump in shock when everyone surprised her and screamed “happy birthday.” she wasn’t supposed to trip on the corner of the rug. she wasn’t supposed to hit her head on the corner of the table. the sirens weren’t supposed to screech down the street and the rug wasn’t supposed to be that color red.
my parents say i do so many things wrong. cookie cutter me. applied to college wrong. did my school work wrong. did the chores wrong. worst of all, loved my girl wrong. said the wrong thing at the wrong time. i know that. not smart enough. not good enough. not pretty enough. not skinny enough. it’s all wrong. i’m all wrong. trying to figure it all out but i’m figuring it the wrong way. wrong answers.
Not right, but sometimes the connotation is a little off. Some things are said to be wrong, but are really just culturally confusing for some people.
Wrong, you say.
Well, I’ll take your wrong and see it with a heaping pile of ‘I don’t give a damn.”
Quite frankly, I find you and all of your petty morals to be quite the nuisance and if you don’t stop, well, I might just have to get up from this WONDERFULLY prepared meal, walk over to you as I slowly wipe the grease from my lips, and say
“You’re next.”
“Whats the matter?”
“Between whom, my lord?”
“Of which you read sir.”
“Words, words, words.”
“If loving Jesus is wrong, I don’t want to be right!” he said as he reloaded the shotgun.
“BANG!” The report echoed through the cubicles of the tech support department, and another IT guy was cut in two by buckshot.
Everything about the scene was wrong. The blood on the floor and walls, the man lying at her feet, the gun stick bouncing across the floor. She could still hear the report of the gunshot echoing in her ears. It made her crazy– everything about this made her crazy. This should never have happened– it COULDN’T happen– and yet it had. And she was too afraid to even pick him up and hold him, the man she loved; the one who meant everything to her.
no don’t tell me I am wrong, this will break me. I would rather find the remains of my body played across the universe than find that life has been for not. The wrong of the mind is perhaps different than the wrong of reality and perhaps we have no wronding to fear because the spaces in the reality of
I constantly worry about what the wrong thing to do in a given situation is, however the “wrong” I concern myself with isn’t a greater moral wrong, and it isn’t a selfish wrong, but rather what would be wrong for the other person in a given situation. Subsequently, I tend to attach what I think would be an imposition or wrong for them to the greater, overall aspect thus ruling out what is right or wrong for me on a regular basis. This is exhausting.
what’s wrong? everything. A song I heard in the car made me think about my friend’s death last month, I’m fighting with my boyfriend, and I just need to get away…I don’t know what I’m doing with my life or what general direction I’m going, I’m just trying to find meaning.
Wrong? How could you say I’m wrong? I’m the one who asked the question! That implicitly means I’m right once I supply the answer.
Sure, there are times when people ask the question when they don’t know the answer, but I’m the teacher and teacher ask questions they know the answers to.
Oh, hush! Don’t tell ME not to end a sentence with a preposition.
It’s just wrong.
What is with this juxtaposition
of just and wrong.
How can something be
so simple and elusive,
yet our lives are parallels
of paradoxes.
Not in the right, not right, straight up gone wrong.
Wait in line just in time or to late, wrong.
Who cares, who’s there what to wear, are you gone?
Everyone is wrong sometimes, everyone is wrong.
What you did.
It’s evil. Conniving. Malevolent.
Wrong.
And now I have learned and accepted and moved on.
And you’re left alone, and back to where you were in the first place.
But I’m ahead.
Can’t do much about that, now can you.
so wrong nothing is less wrong. how is everyone wrong? the way you learned to sit on a toilet like you don’t have legs invented especially for crouching in the wilderness. peeing in the bushes. peeing on the school you used to go to when you had friends and memories there. always have been a little bit of an outsider. man sitting with coffee cup, eating a cupcake. who the fuck eats cupcakes alone? noone. no onw
I was wrong to think that I wanted really anything to do with him. I had this grand idea about staying in the city after graduation and working on our relationship. We hadn’t even held hands at that point. I was wrong to assume. He needed me a lot more than I needed him. I’m thinking another city.
It took me many years to realize that she was wrong, so wrong so much of the time. I would never get back those years when her notion of right and wrong made me cry myself to sleep over and over and over.
Is it wrong that I want this? Is it wrong that I want what everyone around me seems to have? Maybe not in general, but sometimes I feel like whoever’s running the show thinks it’s wrong for ME. Sometimes I feel like I’m not supposed to want someone, because I’m supposed to be seeking the bigger, deeper things. But I do, and why can’t I? Who doesn’t want to be loved?
I knew I was wrong, but I kept arguing. Why couldn’t I just say that I was wrong? For once in my life I could have let the other person win the argument, I could have let him win the argument. But I didn’t, instead, I watched him walk away.
The complexity of binary subjectivism, in western cultures hegemony, has led to the negative interpretation to our own culture. Who is “right” and who is “wrong”? No one is right and no one is wrong. We are all right, in our humanity; we are all wrong, in our interaction.
“Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong!” he said. His words struck right to the core. All my work, all my efforts, he striped it bare and revealed the inadequacies underneath. I had failed him again, and this was to be my last chance. “You’re wrong. And you’ll never get it right.”
I could not have imagined that I could be so wrong. But he said I was. I thought wrong, talked wrong and behaved wrong. I was wrong, wrong, wrong in the essence of who I was.