I judge you.

 With the new Josh Powell case out in the open, I've been thinking a lot about judging people. Is there a difference between judging people, and judging decisions? Or is it one in the same?

I judge, you judge, he judges, she judges, we judge, they judge... you get it. Judgement exists. A boy (preferably a 15-18 year old "asian", in my opinion) walks into a classroom, and instantly every person in that room, consciously or unconsciously, sizes and categorizes him (Plato's talk... whoopee). Is he attractive, unattractive? Is he a good friend? What kind of music does he listen to? It's all decided in under a minute. Of course, with careful evaluation our opinion will change. I am quite fond of the people who surprise me. They can put on a certain image, and turn out to be completely different. I guess we're all that way, in a sense. We all put on images for what we want people to see us as. Vibrant, talkative, and energetic? Chill, smart, and collected? Or perhaps, not having a care in the world? We create images for ourselves of who we are, who people think we are, who we want people to think we are.. So the question comes down to this:

When the masks are removed, who are we really?

Aaaaand while we ponder on that... I think, yes, there is a difference between judging a person and judging their decisions. Take Josh Powell for instance. His wife is missing, and he just killed his two children. I don't believe that there is anyone who would support that act. But is it MY PLACE to wish him to "burn in hell"? I've read too many FB/Twitter updates wishing him the worst.

YES, what he did was sick and twisted and he ruined the lives of two beautiful children... but only God can give him that consequence, whatever it may be.. and I will assure you that it will be just.

More often than not, I think it is better to leave the serious judging (not deciding whether or not I like her shoes) to the Big Man Upstairs.

We are here to live, love, and learn.

Love is louder than crime on the news. Love is louder than heartbreak. 

Anyway, my mom is kicking me off the computer, and I have a pile of unfinished homework.. So goodnight!

Kimber

Doorway

They expect me to grow up
with my head ducked under a Doorway
compressed, sheltered, naive
not understanding that when
the blinders are released from the edges of my eyes,

I will leap willingly from what they've built for me, and realize
that there is a whole other earth, a whole other land another land
with golden roads and witches and men made of tin
loves and brains, and prizes to win.
No hesitation,
I will cry and sing and dance -
live my life and take the chance
but for now

I'm trapped under this old
wooden Doorway,
blinders stuck to the side of my head.
Able to see only what I am allowed to see -
instead of what I want to see instead,
leaving my Wonderful World of Oz
Yet to be discovered.

Color Outside the Lines

Lately I have been feeling so lonelyanddullandtiredandhopeless. It's been a pity party everyday - crying when no one can hear me at tired late hours. It's not their fault, because they are alone, too, with their heads buried deep underneath pillows.

Friends at school have been asking lately "You okay?" Periodically, time and time again, I bob my head up and down. Yes, yes, I am okay. I have nothing not to be okay about. This is all true - there is not a single thing in my life to complain about (except the weather... seasonal depression definitely plays a part). I live in a wonderful neighborhood and ward, have a wonderful family, wonderful teachers, wonderful friends, and work at a wonderful store where I can get wonderful clothes for wonderfully cheap prices!

So what is the matter?

I think, but not certain, that I'm going through a whole changemyself time in my life. I like tearing things apart just to create something new. Though I am happy where I am right now spiritually and socially, but I think that within myself, there are things I am not happy with. I am questioning everyone and everything. Analyzing people, situations, and philosophies. I get bothered easily. The more I am "growing up" (ha), the more protective my parents become -- and in the long run, I'm afraid that's going to cripple me. I feel imprisoned and naive. I know I'm only fifteen, and by no means free to do what I want, but the judgment I get at home for thinking outside the box can, at times, become suffocating.

I am seeing myself and my life from a whole other angle, and I'm still deciding whether I like it or not.

This is a poem my English teacher wrote. I found it rather inspiring and interesting, she and I think a lot alike.

My Artist

Can you see me in color?

Or is your vision just as skewed.

Decisions are black and white-

isn't that how it has always been viewed-

trained to see only in shades.

Where is the color?

Make time for this change-

Stop, and notice.

White is only your canvas-

black simply the guidelines.

Color is the personality-style-soul-mine

Know you paint your own picture-

and it's absolutely beautiful.

Too inspired to be bias or blind.

Am I broken?- I'm finally seeing in color.

They're so vibrant and clever.

Your colors drown my ignorance.

Completely capturing my vision-

my artist, my wisdom.

Now that I see you-

I'll never misuse or abuse you.

Honest in my portrayal-

will you keep me?

Filling in my lines;

and covering my canvas.

I'll catch your colorful eyes-

like you've captured mine.

My Artist.

Kimber