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Sunday, April 11th, 2004
1:25 am


2 analogys | critical analysis

Thursday, March 25th, 2004
2:56 pm

The Cardinal’s Players Proudly Present


March 26: 8:00 PM

March 27: 8:00 PM

March 28: 3:00 PM


The Mary Anne Payne Robertson Auditorium


One Cardinal Spellman Place

Bronx, NY 10466

(718) 881-8000

Call me: (914) 433-4165

I am in it!

critical analysis

Wednesday, March 3rd, 2004
9:53 am



New York (Yonkers, NYC, Bronx)

Add me. I'll add back.

some pics:


current mood: happy

2 analogys | critical analysis

Monday, January 26th, 2004
12:15 pm - The Two Autums: Realism in the blue gardens of Zelda Bennedicta

I arrived on the scene an hour after the world collapsed behind my back, torn apart by warring clans, and wondering if it's better this way..
a billboard frowns upon the confrontation, yellow and red flying through the night-standing in foot prints outlined in tire tracks and chalk, an angel spread it's wings where my mold is pierced by lightning
hurled down by the gods to justify what everyone else sees
but the mirror fails to depict.

It's 10:23
my pulse is going a thousand miles an hour
but my heart has stopped
it's so easy to accept the truth until it happens to you
and you realize that the truth has been replaced by murder and conspiring
over candle lit dinners and moon lit rendevous'
behind a billboard's back I'll tell it likes it is
reality's so circumstantial these days..when the air in the atmosphere has been replaced with cheap liquor and soft coniving jazz.

5 analogys | critical analysis

Friday, December 26th, 2003
10:28 pm - NO ONE UPDATES

I'M SO uninspired

current mood: horny

critical analysis

Saturday, December 13th, 2003
12:33 am - Sorry alot of my shit is really random...

(random thoughts)
Fading out Memories come
Fact or Fiction? I am N U M B

I see your face, follow it
Darker you run, Lighter i feel
My muscles tense, vision blurred,
Hell Is Raised

But now you're here.
Stay with me, lay with me
Hold me tight
As if Hell will NEVER come again,
And you'll never let me go
(not titled)
So Sadistic and bloodthirsty
Want to rip your flesh
Scent, Taste, and Sight to call me
I want your blood
That animal instinct take over
Watching the drip
And knowing i gave you that...
Pain? Excitement? Poison? Pleasure???
It's my pleasure. Tainted Pleasure
Tainted Lust. Tainted Love?
(spew )



so fast



i know
this is just

day dream
and i will snap out

i feel the nausea

to my throat
and a drop

of blood
drips from my ear....



so peaceful

i hate

i'm so confused.

Peace should not

while they're confused

a boy

important things
like love...

do you believe in love?
(no title yet)
Beautiful as you are, and they all envy you
(and they all want what i have)
For your beauty, your set-back eyes, tall hair, and soft lips
(and they only kiss mine)
Your mysterious 'soul'
(if that's what you call it)
Those parts of you no one knows,
And no one ever wil... Not eve yourself.
And they all hate me
Because they can't hate you,
Because they wont hate you,
And i ignore the whores
Who plot my GLOURIOUS death...
Giving me what i want,
And only further pushing you away...
In which you loathe "me" for..
(are you sure it's not you that you loathe?)
But i don't mind cause it all seems to fade
When you wrap me up in your arms.
Just keep me here.
Wrapped up in you
Like a neat little package under a tree.
Paranoia taking over my mind,
Horrid thoughts of distrust,
A depression sweeps over my soul

Not able to deal with humankind,
Not able to deal with my thoughts,
Not able to deal with my mind,
Not able to deal with.... you

What do you do?
When you don't like being around your friends
And lately no one at all...
But you can't live without people

I feed off you. Him too,
Don't worry I just depend on you
To tell me how I feel today,
To tell me how to look
To tell me all my faults
And to tell me how to change.
I am your mold, Your servant
I will do anything... to please you.

I have no needs of my own..
I have no reason to admit to them
Would it really matter?
Do i really matter?
Should i feel as if i do?
When no one listen's to you
When you have a story to tell
And no one cares enough
To take time from their problems
To hear yours
Though you'd drop everything
When they need someone to listen?

Am i too submissive,
Am i too dependant,
Do i fall to your commands too often?
Sure you like the power,
But is it right?
Do you know how this feels?
Do you care?
Is anybody out there?
So many questions
Never any answers...

So i am eternally lost,
In my own struggle
Alone for all time.
With a few visitors along the way...
(autum fog)
Lost in this world.
I look down at the feet
That I don't recognize
As my own.

The breeze is cold on my fingertips
And I don't notice the leaves,
Falling to my feet.
I make it sound as if they worship me...

I wonder 'why wont the rain come?'
Though i watched the giant dark cloud
Form above my roof
And slide nearer to the mountian.

Yet the water wont come.
No relief for me this time.
Only aches and pains,
Down to the bone...
Somedays all i want to do is hold you in my arms,
and watch you shed your tears.
Somedays all i want to do is kiss you from head to toe,
and watch you , watch me , love you.
Somedays all i want to do is lay in the comfort
and warmth of your arms from dusk to dawn,
and then from dawn to dusk.
Somedays all i want to do is watch you smother me,
with your lips and hands.
Somedays all i care about is feeling your breath
on the back of my neck.
Somedays all i have to live for are those sweet words
that you whisper into my ears.
And somedays all i want to do is tell you all the things you do to me, and exactly how i feel for you.
But i know i wont, I'm much too shy.

You Dont Know What I'd Do If I Ever Lost You, I Would Be Shattered. (i would be nothing...)

current mood: bored

7 analogys | critical analysis

Sunday, September 21st, 2003
9:36 am

she screamed out "the sky is gone!" i knew just what she meant. it was the bright lights. who drank all the champane? a toast to you, playing god again. the eternal clocks been set back again! we've been set back again!

1 analogy | critical analysis

Friday, June 6th, 2003
3:22 pm

think about it.
dip your bony fingers in a pool of blood.
write something about heartbreak that you don't know anything about.
(ten times i dare you and get no response).
cry about it in your car as you drive a thousand miles an hour passed me.
you can say she's killing you in a million words.
actions speak louder than that.
look at you, king cobra. playing with my heart.
playing with time.
(ten times i dare you and get no response).
so go ahead. write love poems in red.
the blood that drips from my heart you can pretend is yours.
you can pretend.
(ten times i dare you and get no response).

3 analogys | critical analysis

Saturday, May 3rd, 2003
12:17 pm
_kindergarten 13

and i wish he would just fucking LIVE instead of surrounding himself with constant clocks. he wakes up everyday to the sound of silence and his home is nothing but hearts-alone and the odor that comes from a human body. he rubs his eyes, curses his life, and scratches at his scars until they bleed again. he writes letters of how his spine aches from carrying so much weight (of guilt and sorrow and other peoples sad eyes). sometimes, in the afternoon where orange and tellow hues leak into the kitchen through the windows, he'll smoke cigarettes and dance to the likes of old country records his mother forgot to take with her when she died. he talks to himself, carrying on conversations with a tape recorder pretending his voice was someone else's - a boy with large green eyes and black hair and red veins and a heart that thrives (because then maybe he could steal it and live like it were his own). he drowns himself in sorrow and autumn and moons he wished he could swallow but can barely even reach.

on sundays we sit on his porch as i sketch his undertones and ghostly skin and bony fingers. he tells me all about his father and the way he never went one night withought his arms (wrappedtight).

i cry for him, this boy and his tragic veins and all the things he wish he was and will never be. id rup out my heart for him -- stitch it into his rib cage right next to his lungs because i know his body is just BEGGING for a new warmth.

he shivers.
and i whisper.
and we're on the phone right now; i can feel him dying. the cold leaks and his voice disappears.

&i wish id stop staring at this mirror.

1 analogy | critical analysis

Wednesday, April 30th, 2003
11:20 am

no offense lucy but your site kinda sucks, nobody really posts or anything. sorry.
maybe you should think of a way to get more people to respond to everyone's elses poems


2 analogys | critical analysis

Tuesday, April 29th, 2003
9:05 pm

Process Of Draining Ink
A good friend once told me “Let the ink drain from the pen,”
Good words from a good man.
I try to read into this because there must be
Some code to unlocking the secret.
I read into everything, this setting, the shadow of the trees,
The howling wind, the tips of my toes against the damp grass.
So I sit outside on this brisk night and place this very pen
On this book and wait for the misery, the anger, and glee
All to pour out but [nothing.]
I try to think of clever tales where
“they fell in love” or “he lost his lover” or “she cried real tears”
But it’s all just words, just fragment ideas, just predictable.

I breathe deeply in and out and cry out to the gods and beg them
For ink to indulge this page, but it’s all just a blur of words,
Just childish fuss…just predictable.

I tap this pen on my temple
Hoping it will make a gash deep into my thoughts,
So all the words will fall out from that very hole, into this pen
And onto this paper; where emotions from regret and teenage heartbreak
Will seize this paper whole, but that would be predictable.

I turn the pages back through this journal and read over every sentiment
And experience that is suppose to create beauty and art.
I try to correct grammar taught from irrational instructors
And poorly written text books, which we studied in
School was the “right” way of sequencing our thoughts, but teachers know,
That would be predictable.

So I pretend I’m someone else and moan
About how awful this cruel world can be and
Every word that exits these lips is dismal and as it
Droops to the ground it brings everyone in its presence
Down with it.
The usual bleak writing where I get so caught up in my own misery,
The book begins to bleed red ink and it smears over, sorrowful, everything, but
That would be predictable.

My neck stiffens and I’m numb from this bitter weather and
Frustrated tears stream down my face from this inability to rationalize these thoughts.
I just want with all my heart, body, and soul for ink to stream onto the paper.
The words all smudge and tears from this book
wash off the page and the ink flows out of the pen.

….Now that was predictable.

current mood: amused

critical analysis

Monday, April 28th, 2003
10:06 pm

sometimes i feel as if i'll just walk outside and this city will swallow me whole. the fear this city projects will stab me in the heart one more time and i'll be gone. this city is a street with a NO EXIT sign hidden behind an oversized truck. must've closed my eyes while walking by that. these streets are pulling at my feet. where is there to go? street lights and sirens create a disasterous party scene. teenage girls are date raped by this beautiful city. and you say i'll miss my home. heh. what's there to miss?

2 analogys | critical analysis

6:19 pm - the skies screamed "hallelujah!"

i remember standing in the
middle of the street...

and placing a bible atop
my head

tears streaming
down my dress

past the blood from
my open wounds

"hallelujah" being screamed
from above the church

my panties wet with
desire for the saints

drawing a breath of orgasmic

it's hard to know what to believe

when the holy ghost
just gives me chills

critical analysis

6:15 pm - choking girl

the minister set leaves on the ground
to lead me back to you
i hurry back home to a pad of paper
so that i can write down how much i hate you

the summer got in my way and the sun
burnt my eyelids so that
i couldn't see clearly

i should have known that you couldn't
hold me up
not up much higher than god could
take me

so your name on my notebook, scratched out
is all i have left to remind me
that once upon a time my hand
fit perfectly with yours

critical analysis

6:14 pm - whores bleed too

the whores are in their rooms
with their typewriters
trying to balance
happiness and defeat
trying to realize
what makes them
so hungry at night

current mood: blah

2 analogys | critical analysis

11:52 am - Straight lines

sorry i just wrote this, but i guess maybe it will inspire some starving child in the grips of death....................................................................................................................................................
Straight lines
I fall captive to those
Partial repercussions
Of joys
I never attained.
An arousal
A denial
An attainment
A noun.
Wisps of wind
And nothing more
What have I gained from you?
And you from me?
Was it worth it?
These ripples…angers…ponds…water
Hate, love
I loved.
I gained
I gained nothing.
And neither did you.
Were we truly flying above the earth?
Watching as others fell
to what could never catch us.
It has me now.
Does it have you?
Though this is not the end
It is.
Though you live in circles
I live in squares
And this is a corner
Maybe I’ll turn
You’ll keep the radius
And we may follow
another straight line
May not
Straight lines

critical analysis

11:35 am - kharma fucked, my first poem

Kharma Fucked

i don't whether it's my hand or the steering wheel that's shaking more
i've cried for the first time
do you know why?
i guess some things just weren't meant to be
and you
it's just when you feel like a punk rock song
my heart will play the drums
my dropping tears, the chorus
my bleeding fingers are the verse
so i drive through those streets
and i have no idea where i'm going, as long as it is away.
i've opened your eyes, but for what?
kharma always did fuck me over
i know you can't see
it isn't your fault
change always was the same

i'm going faster now
that pain gleaming in my eye
but bouncing off your smiling face
the scenery blurs into gray
you laugh it off
i cry it away
and suddenly there is nothing but you.

poet on display

jesse h shelley

1 analogy | critical analysis

10:41 am

hi. i'm new. i'll post some things later. bye bye now.

critical analysis

Saturday, April 26th, 2003
12:02 am

i want to write some poetry, but i have zero motivation.

current mood: crushed

critical analysis

1:12 am

for a girl
those two eyes and the mind behind them, they intrigue me so. something in the words you speak and the way you move makes me want you. your beauty shines inside and out. damn, your gorgeous. something about you. there;s something about you.

she has a gun
"why have we grown so apart?" is all i asked. "the worms will soon consume your heart. i don't want it anymore," she said with a wink and a pull of the trigger. she blew the smoke from the gun, "i didn't think you had any guts," she laughed looking at the hole in my stomach, "goodbye my sweet. i'm sorry."

yeah...i just posted alot. hope you like them

critical analysis

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