Kellyrawr's Journals

sleepy

Sup buzznet? So im abnormally awake right now. Its 2:05am sunday morning...im never really awake, but I am right now. That inkling of exhaustion still hasn't crept into my mind. My legs ache. My back hurts. Listening to checkmarks makes me happy. This voice is amazingly lovely right now. Maybe ill go listen to everything we had and fall asleep. Byaz. <3

election-eh

Yea, happy All Saints Day all.
As we near closer and closer to the inevitable ELECTION DAY, it makes me think honestly about how I want this to turn out. I mean, who we choose will determine the next four, maybe even eight, years of our lives and for a lot of us, our first years of adulthood. It's kind of hard to determine just who I want in the White House just yet. Seeing and hearing what each candidate and their running mates respectively say doesn't help. One minute is total agreement and the next it's "what the heck are you saying?!" Life tends to turn on you like that.
November 4, 2008 will be a day to be remembered, maybe just for a year, maybe for years to come, hopefully, for something extraordinary. Maybe this day will change the course of our meek existence on this planet and give our country a complete 180 like we need. Maybe it'll be the beginning to our downfall. The universe is funny that way. We won't know until it happens.
Just watching or listening to debates and watching the news brings up so many concerns and worries for our country. I don't believe we can continue the way we are, as most everyone agrees, but some suggestions seem a little worriesome. I'm almost glad I can't vote this year. Talking to my friend a couple days ago, we both agree that we wouldn't vote for either Obama or McCain, neither impress us or strike us as being "the one." I worry about each's policy and views and how much will likely happen from each's plans.
I guess I'll never know unless one wins. I mean, one will win, but maybe I'm rooting for them both to lose.

Thank goodness I can't vote.

-Kelly.

Listen

Sometimes it denies,
Sometimes it learns.
Beating lies and truths,
Never easy, but never hard.
Leveling your head.

The Day Her Music Died

Words slowly creeping across a page

Scrawling ideas in search of relief

She stops to pause

To slow her pain

But nothing lets her forget that day

The day, her music died.

A bright summer day,

Full of potential and hope

Turned drastically wicked in a matter of hours

Sleep is one beauty she will never regain

After witnessing her world shattering

Never to be put back again.

Her and her family,

Quietly sitting around

Peaceful and solemn,

Tranquility found.

Then, there was a sharp bang at the window,

And then another at the door,

And quickly a man wound up on their floor.

Cold blooded and ruthless,

This man went around,

He struck each one of her family members down.

Except for the girl, a smart one, she was

She went to the closet to keep safe,

And breathing slowly and quietly she waited â�˜til dawn,

To come from her post, not even starting a yawn.

She crept to her knees and stumbled into her home,

But a home she will never consider it again.

For each of her family was lying on the ground,

Pools of abomination

Victims of rage

She stands and just looks upon her old family.

She slowly starts away, towards the phone, then the door

Opens it and runs until she canâ�™t run anymore

She ends up in a park and sits on a small bench

Watching and listening to everything

Anything

Two small blue birds, flutter on by

Jealously watching them fly to their nest,

Where their family awaited them, sitting patiently

Until one bird, the smallest of all

Decided to fly

But couldnâ�™t

And falls

She slowly moves over toward the small flightless bird

Picks it up and gently holds it while the parents start to sing

She gently lets down the bird while the parents swoop down

She watches, curiously, as they try to lift it up

But the fall was too much

As the parents sing,

Slowly closing its eyes,

The bird dies

The parents stopped singing and looked toward the sky,

It was the day, their music died.

Masked

self-pity
self-doubt
what the hell do we know about how we're supposed to feel
And what is even real?

we walk with a mask
and keep the green inside.
falling in stride
never to confide
in what we feel is true to ourselves

told this and that
ways to live
ways to die
ways to hide the uniqueness in ourselves.

unimportant
foolish
meaning all the world to the thoughts inside
bursting and bubbling to break free and explode through the world
to tell what is really going on inside
instead, the glossy covers and faux images on the silver screen portray our lives

the lives we have.
and the others around us.
or so we're told.

and it is engrained into our memories and into our culture that this is the way
and this is right.

that line has been blurred one too many times.
life becoming one on-screen scene.
the cameras never stop rolling, no director to yell "Cut"

just the daily trauma of thinking you're no good
life sucks
people hate you.

sugar coated and hand fed
coming on a silver platter
no wonder lies come easier than truth.

Writing

Time slips slowly over faded lines.
Things long since remembered fade back into focus.
Thoughts flourish at the strokes.
Lines curve the thoughts past and present, flowing from the rememberance.
Ages since these times brought forth but seemingly relative.
Pauses, aching for the simpler times when things seemed easy and people were naive.
These times, like the marks upon the structured lines, have ended.
Sometimes too abruptly.
These are fixed and made to be whole again,
When really, they were only masked to seem whole again.
Then suddenly, these marks fade just as the time which occupied them.
Ended by one remark.
Finally.

Is There A Point?

Is there a point to this world?
Back in the time where everything was sound.
People were free, in their minds and alls'.
Now, the dark depths rein in the midst of the day.
No way is up, down rather hard to find.
Negative and more negative as we revolve in this rotating denial.
Forgetting, losing.
Death, denial.
Not hope, faith.
All is lost.
All is found.
Gain is made through the struggle and the strife.
Gain is made in this forget.
Gain is made in this loss.
In death and denial the faces of hope and faith shine through to all who are looking.
Is there a point to this world?