Poems About Personality Novels & Stories

“And what do you think my type of car is?” “Your personality is coarse, untamed.” He gave a pointed look at my ruffled uniform. “I’d say you are more of a Porsche man.” Before I could snort again, this time in amusement, he continued. “Of course, you’re also laid back, nonchalant. You like to defy the rich, even if you are the rich. I’d imagine you would get something that could barely run, one that was covered with rust. Just as a bold protest against your birthright. You’d be as happy as punch.”

I promise, starting long glides over her body. She’s thin. Unhealthily so. Another turn off when there are already too many. I try to follow my own advice. To think about what makes me scorch from the inside out, and come up blank. I don’t really have a type. It’s about personality. Familiarity. Trust……. I can’t go too fast, but if this gets any slower, I won’t have the energy to finish. Something that’s clearly on their demands list, before either of my friends will be released from the practical ransom of me breaking in Sokin’s woman.

I grip the steering wheel of my sleek, silver Audi, my knuckles white. It smells new, expensive, a heady mix of leather and something subtly artificial. I thought of personalising the car before I kicked off my driving lessons with Dante, but then I thought about it. What exactly is my personality? And then Kira had replied, "A stupid and brainwashed girl who believes three orgasms can equal the truth." I had ignored her, and concluded on my own that I'm still finding out what I like and what I don't. In other words, I'm still searching for a personality.

This vulnerability, an unexpected facet of his being, played like a melodious symphony in my heart. Yet, as I delved deeper into the mosaic of his personality, I uncovered a paradoxical layer that intrigued me further. Like a shadow cast upon the canvas of his kindness, he possessed a side that resonated with the essence of a villain, a captivating duality that defied conventional understanding. It was as though he had mastered the art of balance, walking the tightrope between light and darkness with a grace that left me both bewildered and entranced.

If you really didn’t have a name, how would you identify yourself to other people? Kate wasn’t impressed by that one. ‘By my personality, or course. Your argument doesn’t make sense.’ “Yes it does. I said that the more you know about a person, the more they acquire a personality. I know almost nothing about you. You know very little about me. That’s the way it will stay. Almost, if you like, as objects.’ ‘I don’t like being treated as an object.’ ‘Some objects are very valuable. Some people treat their objects far better than they treat other people.’

Philosophical writing quotes were plastered everywhere like literary adornments that brought the room to life in a way that suited her deep thinking personality. “To be the writer you want to be, you must first be the kind of thinker you want to be,” was her favorite. Now as she stared at the words, they shamed her. Some great thinker, you are. All you can think of is a boy. Georgia couldn’t help but smile at her own craziness. She was a true Piscean, with a head in the clouds, always connected deeply to everything around her like a hopeless empath; but one that lacked the ability to translate those emotional feelings into actual connections in reality. She loved her posters and sometimes c

He doesn’t have to call me out like that. “Who told you that?” I ask and he looks at me chuckling. He needs to stop laughing at me. I didn’t say anything funny. “I don’t have to hear it from anyone. I’ve spent enough time with you to know you are very soft and gooey.” He says and I shake my head disappointed. This evaluation of my personality is not going well for me. I’m gooey now? No wonder this man doesn’t like me beyond this. He thinks I’m uninteresting, dare I say dull. That doesn’t sound like anybody’s type; I wouldn’t date me based on that description.

"Ms. Carter, I want to keep what happened right here from happening again. You're the only person who's come closer to stopping it than my medication ever has." “Again, why me?” “I'm not entirely certain, but I've noticed your…uh… personality has a way of distracting me from the unfavorable elements in this environment.” “My personality? You mean my nuisance, dumbness, recklessness and unprofessionalism? Cause that's basically how you’ve described me.” ​“No,” he said with a faint shake of his head. “I mean full of life, kind, chirpy, clumsy. Naive, chaotic, yes. But real.” One corner of his mouth twitched before he caught himself.

I couldn’t possible sit on it, so I used it to barricade myself inside the bathroom so no one could enter. "Okay I got like 20 minutes before my first class." I grab out my book. Not a novel book. An exercise book. I write poems in. I turn to my most recent poem. Cliche but it’s about not fitting in. Sometimes I ponder though, if everyone feels like they do not fit in with the rest, doesn’t that make them fit in? Paradox. "Okay, Umm..." I start to brainstorm and read my thoughts whilst writing them down. 'I want to run far, far away

“It’s fine.I’m good really.I just thought I would be strong enough to take all of this,the truth” “It’s okay to not be strong at times.Sometimes I try not to be” I looked at him then and chuckled “Your personality says otherwise” “Personality?” “I’m not saying you’re a bad person.You have a good heart but you can also be distant at times.It’s just like one minute you’re all over me,next minute I don’t know my stand in your life.So really you’re strong because you don’t see the need to be around people most times” He moved to stand in front of me.