A dream to me

 There are deep paths to my soul that only he can reach..

Across the greatest mounds and mountain tops.. I am his for keeps.

The softest lips to kiss I've ever known.. we create a musical masterpiece of harmonic moans.

My lover. My friend.  This is my bliss.  A utopia of ecstacy, an opportunity to exist.

He desires me. I admire him. Together we create passionate lust..

Magnetic I'm so drawn to you, this moment, just for us. 

M.Jones

I wish you knew when you're away, how much I need you close..

Present, or a dream to me..

It's you I need the most. 

Starved

 You leave me love starved, feining for affection.  Completely vulnerable to your actions, and then you leave me unprotected.

I don't want to steal this moment, if it's only a temporary lust.  Let me loose from this ecstasy, unchain me from your deepest thrust. 

I do want this. You don't want this.  Still trapped in your past.  Captured all my fantasies  as if this thing will last.  

I see it all without confusion, but with you comes interruption.  Out to steal my heart away then destroy it with corruption.

Fill me up then you leave me with the nothing I call emptiness.  Starved without affection. Left to question all of it.  

M. Jones 

A Guy Who Looks Like Me Lies Dead In The Street

They believe we have nothing to live for so they carry on with their lives and carelessly throw shameful eyes upon ours.


Yes we are DIFFERENT!
It is evident, we are not the same.  Your world doesn't understand mine, my world doesn't understand yours, so we war in our own beautiful America.  I'm too mesmerized in anger, in fear, to fixate my eyes across seas to that war.  A guy who looks like me lies dead in the street.  His life is a memory.  A headline.  Your headlines, they ruin us, they maximize your own misconception of my lifestyle, of my roots, of my history, of my mama's history.  You were not here! Not until it was time to bring the camera's out and shine that bright hot light on THIS story to glorify YOUR understanding of who I am.  I am the guy lying dead in the street.  He is like me.  We are not different.


Why don't you come into my neighborhood and educate these children you call so poor, so helpless, give them the chance you scream they never had.  Since their strained home has ruined them with anxiety and paranoia, and you've studied them, you've written them, and you know them, why don't you find a way to educate them despite their helplessness.  Teach them what you teach America; that they are unworthy of a meaningful life, and that they are not equal, teach them that they are indeed DIFFERENT.


This IS about race relations.  This IS the year 2015.  We keep finding ourselves in this repeated cycle of history and each time we reach this point we become ruined, our entire generation ruined.  Just stop rolling your camera's.  Stop capturing a story you are not experienced enough to tell.  You are getting it all wrong.  It is not the dead guy in the street that is angry.  It was your own.  It was them.  The ones who are different, who uphold themselves on levels of God's, rulers of the land, this beautiful land.  The ones who are so different, my difference is inferior by default.  They just keep spinning this cycle, repeating our history, shooting their guns, and killing the guys that look like me.  The guy who lies in the street dead.  His cycle has stopped spinning. His History cut short.  You removed his voice.  You took away another voice who could have rose with us and spoke with us to tell you that we are DIFFERENT. My world is different. 


What do we tell his mother? What do we tell his father? What do we tell the man, the young man, the woman, the young woman?  What do we tell the people who look like me? A guy who looks like me lies dead in the street. What do we tell the voices still ready to preach?  Animals when you stare in their eyes, do you not see defeat?  Hands up! Get on the ground! Put your hands behind your back! Boy don't you look at me that way, quit talking that smack! Boom! Boom! Officer needs back up! Officer needs back up! A guy who looks like me lies dead in the street. A guy who looks like me lies dead in the street.


Written By,
Michelle D. Jones

Story Love

Goodbye to love, the leaves have turned golden and fragile cold. The seasons have gone and all that we know is memories unwanted and told.

Had we chose to hold on we'd of known the power we have in creating a future.. Circumstances and spiritual wars chose for us and left us untangled  no future. 

If I could have wished you home at night your love may have never turned away, sleepless worried about us while she was blaming me for being in the way. 

The pain you caused while pretending remains etched in my heart how could you? Toss out how much I loved you as if I never knew you. 

You weaken me and consume me I can't fall apart either way..
It never mattered how or why I loved you, you never planned to stay.  

M. Jones

You and Me

I can't escape the rescue, 
I've ran but can not go. To think of love without us,
Is not for us to know. 

We've almost beat the odds, we've faced our fears with shame. 
We've broken hearts of those who've watched,
Who want it all for fame. 

I've heard of lust, I know of love, to lose it would be pain, 
It's why I stand beside you love,  It's why I call your name. 

Won't turn away.. I love you, I know it's not for show, 
I've watched you look into my eyes and tell me all you know. 

We can not last with others hearts, we must remain as two, 
I cannot listen to their hearts, I still would search for you.  

He still would search for me, his world, why won't they let us be? 
To love and last forever no, why won't they turn us free? 

He is for me, I am for him, whatever that may be,
even when our time is up it's forever you and me. 

New York, New York

In three days I learned one simple rule about the city of New York.  No one runs it.  It stands on it's own, and defines itself as the capital of America.  It is the most beautiful space I've laid eyes on.  Invaded by the many people who whiz through it's street, New York is the holder of American citizens.  It allows it's own citizens to become ghosts.  It swallows you in it's massiveness and dares you to get lost through the amazing subway tunnels and wide sea of yellow cabs.  You can truly be gone in a New York minute.   With that being said, New York makes me feel free.  The people of New York are who they want to be, without shame, bold in spirit, unafraid like the State.

I met a psychic in Manhattan on 8th Avenue.  She looked into my eyes and read my soul as if New York was only occupied by the two of us.  It was as if she studied me before I walked into the door, and when I left, I felt inspired; ready to take ahold of my own destiny and run full force into the greatness she claimed I am destined for.  It was after that reading that I knew I had to take New York and not let New York take me.  I started off on my journey on the number 2 train to uptown.  Not being from New York, you hear all these crazy stories about the things that happen on the subway system and  how it is unsafe.  If it is unsafe, I never got the chance to see it.  What I did see was a powerful underground system, that in itself is a whole other world for people to live in.  There is a party on every train in New York. 

You can't escape the noise.  Above ground I hear cars and Taxi's honk at one another to move along, above ground you hear stories that are meant to be held as secrets and left behind in the underground.  New York citizens make money underground as much as they do above.  Children dance for loose change, musicians play to be discovered, and artists build and carve things out of soda cans.  It is the place where having a dream doesn't seem like it's that far away.  With every beat of a drum being played in the subway you move closer and closer to where you ought to be. It is the place where inspiration was born.  Where Hollywood stars are tossed in your view teasing you with their display of success, but showing you that you can have it to.  Success is born in New York.

When the number 2 train came to a halt on 125th street, I spilled out, ran up a flight of steps and walked into a city of history, of struggle, and beautiful life.  Harlem stole my heart the moment I stepped foot on it's concrete.  I felt like I was at home.  That I had arrived  to a place where the people look like me.  It is the Black Mecca of the world.  Harlem shows you how important it is by the names of it's streets.  A lot of the streets are named after civil rights leaders, black inventors, and other important people of history. Marcus Garvey has a park named after him that sits right in the middle of Harlem.  I saw Martin Luther King Jr., and Malcolm X's face plastered on the side of a hot dog stand.  You can buy anything in Harlem.  Reggae CD's for $1.00, buttons with Civil rights leaders on them, African oils and jewelry, New York Gangsta DVD's, and the latest Urban fiction novel all for a low price.  The history of hip hop is told and sold right here on 125th.  It is amazing.  The famous Apollo theater is here. 

I spent 5 hours in Harlem, and never left a 6 block radius.  There were so many people to see, so many people to watch.  I even saw a chess game being played by elder men just like on television.  It was here that I saw so many young people and I felt so proud, so happy for them, that they had the chance to be raised around so much culture and inspiration. I stopped a group of women chatting in Harlem and asked them where the nail shops are.  I hadn't seen a single one around the area I was in.   They were polite women, who welcomed my friend and I to New York by showing us how to hail a cab.  We looked around and did not see any yellow taxis which we thought was strange. 

In Manhattan taxis are everywhere.  It was then that they explained there are gypsy cabs in Harlem.  They are black Lincoln town cars and they charge customers whatever fee they want to take them throughout the city.  They do not have meters on them.  The ladies warned us, don't pay more than $7.00 and instructed us to go to 116th and Lexington to get my nails done.  We paid $8.00 for the cab.   After I got my nails and eyebrows done, I walked out of the nail shop and right back down a flight of steps into the underground world of the subways.  It's that easy to come and go.  To appear and disappear.

My friend and I took the number 2 train back to Manhattan.  We figured we'd get back off on 42nd street and end up where we got on, but instead we got the surprise of our life when we exited the subway.  We found ourselves right in the middle of Times Square.  The big city lights blinded me and mesmerized me.  The sea of people trampled by me, as I stayed planted in my movement, in awe, looking around like a kid in a candy store.  I got my feet ran over by a tourist walking by with her suitcase and she didn't dare apologize.  She was in a rush, to see as much as she could I suppose, and I couldn't even blame her or get mad that she hadn't acknowledged me. 

 I turned to my friend, smiled wide and said "Trice, this is Times Square.. you know the spot we watch from our couches in Minnesota on New Years Eve and watch the ball drop while wishing we were there."  We laughed, we walked, we shopped.  Times Square was overwhelming.  In less than thirty minutes I couldn't take much more of it.  It is tourist nation, where you can buy 2 for 1 comedy show tickets from random men begging you to purchase a ticket.  It's a place where fast talkers can convince you to buy anything if you listen to slow.  Times Square is not where time is kept.  It is where time is lost.

On my second day in NYC, I boarded the F train to Queens.  It was an hour long ride where my friend and I sat and talked, pouring out our secrets, our desires, our fears. We got off on 169th street right at a coffee shop.  This was perfect considering it was early in the morning and I needed a serious pick me up from the beating I'd taken a day before.  The coffee shop was owned by a Latino family, who welcomed us in and gave us a place to kick our feet up if only for a moment.  I saw a beautiful painting of the Queensboro bridge painting while enjoying my coffee. 

Afterwards, my friend and I walked to the Jamaica mall which also has an outside mall to do more shopping.  It was here that we met a lot of beautiful people, some funny, trying to sale us anything they could.  Knock off Jordan's for $40.00. True Religion outfits for half price.  A DJ played inside the window of a furniture store and I thought to myself, it's really a party everywhere in NYC.  There were hundreds of people walking in the outside mall and each store blared it's own sales pitch through loud speakers.  You'd walk past one store and hear the best deal of your life, then the next store would be playing the hottest hip hop track.  It was unlike anything I'd ever seen but I enjoyed being a queen in Queens, NY.

What should have been another hour long ride back to Manhattan turned into a two hour long ride because we boarded the wrong train.  We got lost and we had fun getting lost.  I ended up heading over to have a late dinner in Brooklyn at the famous Junior's restaurant before we went back to Manhattan.  By the time I got back to my hotel room my feet burned, my body ached, but my heart was filled with love. I love New York.  New York had done it's job.  It wore me out.  But it didn't conquer me.  One thing I know is that I will be back.  There is no other place I could ever imagine that could compare to what this city did for me.  It gave me hope.  New York inspired me. 

By,
Michelle D. Jones

US

Sometimes they come in our world and they fight, they're afraid of us.
Call out every name in the book, disrespectful, throwing shade at us.
Though for them we are real, just because, they play games with us.
Thought I'd trust you, now I know, don't be claiming us.


Fight to love, but with you, loves afraid of lust.
Like my heart, when it fights, and refused to trust.
Can't expect anything more, there's no change in us.
Betrayal repeats like the day, there's just pain with us.


M. Jones