Findings:

Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "she wore her anxiety like bad makeup"

She wore a bit more makeup than he generally liked
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
In a quiet grove of pines under a frosty sky, he helped her out of the sack. She wore severe white hospital pajamas and was beautiful.
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
I don't like her because she won't like me
She wears her failed relationships like a shield
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
It clings to her like dedication in the rain
she left her handwriting all over the calendar
she gave herself that holocaust haircut. cinnamon colored clippings cover the motel bedspread like sprinkles.
It happened to everyone else; she swore it wouldn't to her
That week with her was like drinking bubbles
if you fear spells, look away when she decides to share her hair with the wind.
She doesn't look like Mother anymore
She Liked Horses, and Flowers That Smell Pink
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
serene. She sips her tea
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
She knows no truth except her own.
She Will Have Her Way: The Songs Of Tim & Neil Finn
she can't remember what it's like to be found
She couldn't imagine that he liked dancing
She is a night of dark trees, but he who is not afraid of her darkness will find banks full of roses under her cypresses
She is lobbing rainbows at me from across the room and I am swallowing them like fear.
She could run a spiel like nobody's business. She could sell the world and make you wish for more.
She had eyes like the Blue Screen of Death
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt
She is so beautiful, I gave up Nihilism for her
Veronica loves manipulating her vagina until she explodes
sunset rainwater turns her sidewalk chalk-art into a sherbert delight; a surprise gift from chaos that tumbles her like tinkling bells onto the wet grass
Sometimes the apathy she saw made her want to curl up and cry
She found her bliss between the headphones, and pursed her lips.
Susan Goldman, who has cervical cancer, is partly thankful as she braces herself but changes her mind as she's sprayed with burning jet fuel.
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him
she lit her thumb on fire
waiting for his arms to fold like wings around her
I like it when I dream of her. It's the only time we get to talk.
I got a girl in the war, Paul, her eyes are like champagne
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
She is like an onion
She tasted like whiskey and blood and cemetery dirt.
she made them, like fire, expansible over all space
She was a Surrealist Woman, She was like a Figure in a Dream
Her sleeves ride up on her arms when she moves
She writes like the wind moves
She just stares at us like we're crazy
I wore the sun in my hat like a feather
She had incongruity for breakfast because she felt like it
like a tiger without her mountain
it wouldn't be so bad if people like you would have become ghosts too
She opened her eyes and spoke in a very normal voice, just as if she were sane
She flies with her own wings
She said, while hugging a bowl of turnips close to her bosom
She plugs her tears in the way you'd keep a dam from breaking
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
When she woke up, her hands were still dreaming
At night, her eyes closed, she would
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
She who leaves men as flaming wrecks in the ditch on the side of the road in her wake, yea, even submarines
The portion of her face she allows me to see
I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.
putting on her makeup
She Will Have Her Way
the way she wears her weary
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
She practices her speech
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
why she makes her wishes at 7:07
And she, with her beautiful words and such a fire burning inside
Her eyes were gray like a storm, and even more dangerous
I would have attempted to draw her if she had stayed that way.
I told her the driftwood looked like Spain
she had already found her party
She Looked Slutty. I Don't Mean That in a Bad Way.
She nicknamed her vagina "Crusty"
I would have liked thunder when she left
She is like a kaleidoscope, a strange attractor, a superstition
She told me I looked like a Henry, and this is how she would know me
When she was new, she rolled around the sky like a black umbrella blown by the wind
She always confused her greys with white.
She Came and Went Like Wind (A Selkie Story)
She had fingernails that shined like justice
She must be what cocaine is like
She tastes like gingerbread, too.
She felt like the word 'shatter'
She was like a candle in the wind: unreliable
Spinning shapes like a song out of order. In the dark she can see fireflies.
She didn't write like Emily Dickinson, but she did live in a house overlooking a cemetery, and I guess he thought that was important.
she likes to dance on the edge. it's all she's known and she won't change now
She doesn't like you
She hit me like thunder, and I had to lie down until I could breathe again
She said I dreamed like dead men
She keeps her lies everywhere
She thought about giving him her heart
Her perception of how gorgeous she is will be evident in her lack of movement during sex
I haven't seen her in a month. She is still beautiful.
You'd better quit sticking your thumbs in your belt loops like that. You're giving me bad ideas.
She does not rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch
Her grief is still too young to behave itself, so she never lets it out
Tied up tight, like a bride on her wedding night
Fuck and please her like never before with the Stimulator!
The colors flow through her like a rainbow
She calls him Sugarcane. He calls her Hurricane.
She bruised her knee. This is how we met.
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
He touched her once and she turned into a golden creature. He never touched her again.
She was never mine. I always shared her.
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
She sat in virginal white, eyes closed, with only her face in rose
I ate her love like a nine-piece bucket of chicken
I don't think she even knows that I make her smile
She does not take her trip. She does not shout out loud.
does she need to touch her own face to know?
And her legs went on forever, like staring up at infinity
She always was devious in her beauty
Even the moon likes to change her colors
You make that sound like a bad thing
It's too bad she won't live. But then again, who does?
She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
She gets caught in the little world beneath her sheets
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
Good girls who look like bad girls
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
When she sleeps, is she not moving her legs aside for an unknown garrison?
while she sleeps, i write myself into her life
She is the sea. Above her, he is thunder.
You put a hand on her hip, she permits it.
she doesn't write, doesn't tell you stories, but somehow it's her words that spring to mind at those crucial, terrifying moments, and for that you are eternally grateful
her ardent eyebrows are charcoal scimitars taut above eyes that breeze like open windows
She is willing to attempt to retrieve the data. Go with her.
I feel like I don't know her for a moment. It passes.
She disappeared as if he had only dreamed her
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
When I look into her eyes, I no longer care about what the world thinks. This is what it feels like to be alive.
My friend is dating someone who likes him far more than he likes her
She asked me to read her a poem
She, the Last Leviathan. She, the Station Agent. Chin on her Palm, she Watches Every Departure.
She Called in Her Soul to Come and See
A girl I know had her jaw wired shut, and she vomited.
She picked herself up, wiping away at her dignity
She is the queen of accidental magic. Her used kleenexes, taken by the wind, become soulful ghosts.
When she was bad
She crashed her car trying to avoid a butterfly
The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne
I gave her my heart, she tore it apart, and who gives a fart.
she gave her heart to a falling star
She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo
For a lawyer she was surprisingly like a child. Sometimes.
When that cow would walk it was like she was dancing
She smokes. It wraps around her wrists and clings to her neck.
That was what her hunger was like: mesmerizing, directed, floating like a public secret just under the cloud cover.
She said her father died of cancer in the sixties
bad weather is like rape
debugging is an imperfect science, fraught with anxiety
Existential anxiety coping
treatment-resistant anxiety
Very Bad Things
bad sprite programming
he wore black and i wore white
Woman and breasts are a bad combination
Good? Bad? I'm the guy with the gun.
Save a bad trip
bad prison movie
Bad roommate
bad magic

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