“here’s to the kids. the kids who would rather spend their night with a bottle of whiskey and patrick or sonny playing on their headphones than go to some vomit-stained high school party. here’s to the kids whose 11:11 wish was wasted on one person who will never be there for them. here’s to the kids whose idea of a good night is sitting on the hood of a car, watching the stars. here’s to the kids who never were too good at life, but still were wicked cool. here’s to the kids who listened to fall out boy and hawthorne heights before they were on mtv… and blame mtv for ruining their life. here’s to the kids who care more about the music then the haircuts. here’s to the kids who have crushes on a stupid lush. here’s to the kids who hum “a little less 16 candles a little more touch me” when they’re stuck home, dateless, on a saturday night. here’s to the kids who have ever had a broken heart… from someone who didn’t even know they existed. here’s to the kids who have read the perks of being a wall flower and didn’t feel so alone after doing so. here’s to the kids who spend their days in photo booths with their best friends. here’s to the kids who are straight up smart asses and just don’t care. here’s to the kids who speak their mind. here’s to the kids who consider screamo their lullaby for going to sleep. here’s to the kids who second-guess themselves on everything they do. here’s to the kids who will never have 100 percent confidence in anything they do, and to the kids who are okay with that. here’s to the kids. this one’s not for the kids, who always get what they want, but for the ones who never had it at all. it’s not for the ones who never got caught, but for the ones who always try and fall. this one’s for the kids who didn’t make it. we were the kids who never made it. the overcast girls and the underdog boys. not for the kids who had all their joys. this one’s for the kids who never faked it. we’re the kids who didn’t make it. they say “breaking hearts is what we do best,” and, “we’ll make your heart be ripped of your chest.” the only heart that I broke was mine, when I got my hopes up too high. we were the kids who didn’t make it. we are the kids who never made it.”

“Just because someone goes to church every Sunday and sits in the front row doesn’t make his a Christian , love. You can have not gone to church in years and still be a better person than the ones who show up every week.”

My dad said this to me this morning on the way to work. He said he knew a man that had ruined a lot of people for his own gain. He told me he almost deserved to die.

So why almost?
Where is the line drawn?
Is there a certain point and after that point, you no longer deserve to enjoy this world?
There are people who say that nobody deserves to die. and then there are the ones who vote for the death penalty.

What separates the worthy of life from the non-worthy?
How far must you go to make people believe you must die?
How disgusting do you have to act before you cross the line?

And after you step over, is there any way of getting back?

Begin at the beginning.
the first words he said to me were: what happened? show me? you look pretty. your welcome.

Now the middle.
i always seem to get caught staring at him, does that mean hes staring at me too?

End at the end.
we don’t talk, i stare at him all the time, and i actually have to stop myself from thinking about him to concentrate on other things.

teenage love, is not real. it might last a day, a month, a year. but the odds of it actaully becoming a real working relationship is slim. teenage lust on the other hand, is unstoppable. its unpredictable and exhilarating. the way you can look at him and feel like the breath has just been smacked out of you, causing you to inhale everytime he comes into view. its the feeling of butterflies in your stomach and the wobbly knees, and every single other cheesy cliche you can think of. thats teenage lust. i’m in lust, but i wish i was in love..


Shackled hands, for a captured heart
A fire is coursing, unstoppable through me
Careering off course, distant from the start
No more cages, with you I’m free

In the depths of the ocean I drown
Losing myself in your eyes
You’ve slayed me now, retrieve your crown
I’ve become love drunk, no longer wise

Glue my broken pieces together
Fix me, all shiny and new
In your arms I’ll stay forever
I’m yours, through and through

when you were six, the funniest things in the world were knock knock jokes. now, our humour has evolved and everything is either funny or lame and you’re either funny or lame. sadly, according to my friends i fall under the lame category. in fact i am the leader of the lames.
but why do we have to be one or the other? i lack severely in all round funniness but i know whats funny, i’m just not funny. why the need to sort everything into groups? emo, goth, scene, slut, jock, popular, geek, freak, loner? these labels are so stupid but we do it to ourselves. why is it that we have this constant desire to be noticed, to be apart of something. why do girls always need to be accompanied by someone else, to sit, to walk, to drink, to pee!
‘i need to pee, will someone come with me?’
are we really so afraid of what will happen if we are alone that we need to have company whilst using the toilet? what happened to the Independence people talk about, where is the security? what will happen if you are alone? so you will be deprived of moronic conversation for five minutes. you can’t complain to anyone about how bad your hair looks today or how fat you feel. you can’t discuss who slept with who and who is in a fight. but does that matter?
honestly, its ridiculous how dependant we are one other people. how much we rely on our peers acceptance and approval.
the world is falling apart and all we care about is what we are going to wear tonight.
i’m not lame, and i’m not funny. label me what you like; i know who i am.
BE BRAVE, PEE ALONE!

on a girls myspace today, i saw in her ‘about me’ that she loved poetry, that she writes and reads.
i saw it and i was jealous. because she was brave enough to actually say she liked poetry, rather than just keep it to herself.
i said i wanted to be different, i wanted to be better and braver. but how can i change anything when I’m still to scared to even tell people that i like poetry!?
why is it that its so easy to say something or type or write something, but so incredibly difficult to follow through?
how do you talk when you’ve got a squeak for a voice or type when your hands are shaking like ice in a blender? how do you smile when all you want to do is cry and how do you act like everything is okay when its so far from it?
where do people get the courage to be themselves? because what if it turns out nobody actually likes you?

new poem, written: 2010-02-12

Breath in, breath out
Speak what’s on your mind
Tumble out the words in a shout
Remember to forget to be kind

Scream as loud as you dare
Let the words escape with pleasure
Frighten the innocent, give them a scare
Challenge, see if they can measure

Project your voice into the breeze
Allow it to carry through to the world
Your mind can relax, body can ease
As your latest tragedy is unfurled


its called scream.

So i found this quote ^^ on a friends myspace, and seeing as no one actaully reads this and its pretty just me writing things to get them out in the open, i thought it was pretty safe to use it.
i like it, because its true. i can remember the first moment i truely hated my brother, but i cannot remember that day. i can remember the first time i “attempted” self harm, but not that day.
it would be nice if i could remember every day. if every move i ever made could be forever imprinted into my mind, but they don’t.
that’s probably why i fail tests, because i can remember all the words to an eminem song, but not how to do quadratic equations.

So I saw this quote one day driving past a church centre place. it was

“In youth, we learn
In age, we understand” i thought it was cute and shiz, so I wrote a peom based around it. its called ‘Elusive Unknown’ and it pretty much wraps up the crap i write on this blog. the meaning of life, all of that. enjoy if you can :)

The meaning of life
It’s that elusive unknown
That hides out of reach
Not once being shown

In youth, we learn
In age, we understand
But you’ve got to take the leap
Before you know if you’ll land

The meaning of life
Is not known when greening
Not to search high and low
But to give life meaning

But to give life meaning
Would involve admitting to care
To give life meaning
Might just be the biggest scare

So heres another poem. Its called ‘The Quiet Is Deafening’
It is a Kelsey Original so enjoy :)

Can you feel the beat, thrumming away
It’s loud enough to make your shoes vibrate
As the words that could save you are screamed
Into your mind, you are sane again

Hear the drums blow, creating the rhythm
The entire feel of the moment, your moment
To be alone, to not be yourself anymore
To sing away the pain that devours you

Because the quiet is deafening
And it tells you all the the things you fear
But you stay locked in your musical world
Where nobody will see that stray tear

The headphones blast into your ears
Saving you from another moment in silence
‘Cause this is where every lie reveals the truth
And that noise, lets you live another day

you know how people say that eveyone has a talent, you’ve just got to find yours?
well i don’t think i do.
the only thing that i’ve ever been able to do remotely well, is write poetry, but even that isn’t good enough to stand out.
this is a poem called ‘The Quiet Screams the Truth’

“Cutting like a razor, the silence takes hold
Replacing this artificial confidence with nothing but cold
Tearing away everything you once thought to be true
And leaving the reflection with something that formerly looked like you

You can grab at the past and pray for return
But nothing is undoing this final crash and burn
These memories are stronger than you will think
And they won’t go away, no matter how much you drink

Their hungry cries and bleeding stares
Aren’t worth screaming about, no one really cares
So listen to the silence and throw away your youth
Because you know as well as I do that the quiet screams the truth”

i don’t know what its about, the metaphores are simple, but hazey. when i write poetry, i vent. its like a dancer letting the music just carry them, or an artist allowing the brush to take over. i let my emotions flow through into words, onto paper, and into the real world.