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

Trapped

To the many women who spend their nights alone confined inside their own thoughts, 
Sad cause you're trapped in love with a man who says everything's your fault. 
So cold with his glare, face turned up, a fight within himself, 
Too bold, way to much pride to ever consider help.


So you hang on like holding on won't exist past him, 
Stealing your strength each day like the light when it dims. 
Yet..you keep on loving, nope,  she refuses to ever give up..
Even when he yells with raised fists she still yearns for his touch. 


Forget the tears, the scars,  and the many nights it rained,
confused all the time mistaking love with the pain. 
He doesn't change but she changes without even knowing,
Still looks at the mirror and swears her face is glowing. 


Body weak, crazy thoughts, all she's thinking is he played me.. 
never once thinking of all she'd become, too busy calling him baby.
Scratching records, breaking cycles, for what when it's all the same..
Distraught in his idea of love, still hope to get his last name. 


Blinded by his used up lust, you'll do anything for his attention, 
Even stick by his side, see him through that ten year prison sentence.
You only know loss so you never win, never release his hand..
She never loves herself enough to ever leave this man.  


By, 

Michelle D. Jones

The Midnight Train Part II

For the longest moment he stood frozen.  There were so many thoughts rummaging through his mind, so many emotions running rapidly with no place for expression.  Any other man would have left when the voice spoke from behind the door.  But not this man, not this train rider.  He had came there for purpose, to win back a love he never let go of, yet had walked away from and left.  It had been years, he realized that now, at least four years since he had last touched her face in the wee hours of the morning.  Still, he never imagined that she wouldn't be there.  He had so many times previously broke the hearts of women who loved him, just to return to them later, sometimes weeks later, to meet them with wide open arms.  This is how women love after all.  He knew that, knew that they would hold on to love long after their lover had checked out.  Four years, maybe that was too long.  He sat and contemplated knocking on the door again.  

Immediate feelings of loss turned into anger, and he fumed inside knowing he wouldn't have what he came to get.  He needed her to at least understand what caused him to return.  Why after so long his heart led him to board the last train to the East Side of town in search of the only women who moved him.  No other had compared.  He had convinced himself after meeting and sleeping with hundreds of women across the world that no one, not one had moved him like her.  She was his one.  She was the woman he had dismissed as an after thought and then awoke realizing he wouldn't live without her.  One part of him told him to move on, to turn around and carefully walk down the frozen street back to the train station.  At this point, a cab would be better, but still he remained, in the cold, feeling it's sting like the mark just left on his heart.  

For some reason, he placed his ear to the door.  He imagined a short whimper barely audible escaping her lips yearning for him.  Instead he heard the wind.  He knocked.  Then stepped back.  Shifted his feet from right to left, then left to right before shoving his hands inside his pea coat.  He looked above and noticed the light was still on in that bedroom.   He shook his head, lowered it in shame and knocked again.  He could hear the footstep thumps increasing in sound the closer they approached the door.  There was a hesitation.   The outside lamp blindly intimidated him and he squinted at first reaction.  The door opened and there she was, a shiny black revolver in front of his eyes.  All imaginative thoughts dissipated as reality threatened his last breath.  "Step away from my door step." the voice said sternly.  Shaken by the thought of getting shot, the train ride spoke "Wait a minute, I didn't meant to cause this type of trouble.  I'll leave now."  His facial expression half attempted to appear apologetic as if he never hated him just moments before.  He had hated the voice without even seeing his face.  He wanted to be the voice at that moment.  The train rider moved as quick as he could down the city sidewalk, slipping a few times, but focused directly on what was in front of him and not what was behind.  

He heard a door slam.  His world, completely lost.  At this point nothing he had earned or worked for during his disappearance was worth that reaction.  The Icy sidewalk.  It appeared before him as a warning to be cautious, had always been here throughout the entire scene as if it knew what the outcome would be.  He wondered why as he walked down the street, why he wasn't willing to die for love.  Why he hadn't challenged the man who stood before him, king of his abandoned castle.  She was worth fighting for, but he had fought enough battles of his own war that he couldn't see one with her.  Not his love, not the one.  He wanted to cry.  Confused like a lost soul, he wandered up and down the streets.  But instead of crying he chose instead to laugh inside.   He remembered the gun, the shine it had.

He hadn't used it.  the voice had pulled it, but didn't use it.  He gave him another chance, a chance to come back again and this time he'd be prepared.  He wasn't going to give up.  Not after that long ride through downtown, the six block walk over the bridge, and passing two hoodlums, a drug addict, and a sleeping cop on duty in his patrol car.  He was yearning for love and decided at that moment he'd get what he came for and finish what he started. 

By,

Michelle D. Jones 

In Love With A Man

In Love with a Man

If only there was a way to express what I feel today, I know you would understand

I know you would feel me.

I can't compare the love I have for you against the beauty of the sky,

For at night the sky has a dark side of deceit and you my love

Always shine oh so bright.

I think it’s the way you rhythmically walk, or maybe it is the beautiful dark skin

You wear so well; either way I am feeling you, I yearn for you.

Somewhere in between lust and love I became trapped between your sexy brown eyes

For they educate me seductively.

Who says a man can't be sweet?

While you are romantically intriguing me with your conversations

I am constantly in slow motion; I am constantly awaiting your arrival.

If only you can see my dreams of you then you'd know...

It's the way you hold me, it's the way you love me slow, just can't let go.

I am so ready to move forward and my only wish is with you

Loving me passionately on warm sands beneath the moon.

And maybe you'll never get it; maybe we'll never meet the sands

Awaiting the days patiently to say I'm in love with a man.

By Michelle D Jones

Can I Speak On It?

Last weekend I remember you coming to me telling me that you are marrying your
man,
did you know yo man can't walk on his own.
Before you he was living off of Meeka on Bush Street
Before her it was Tanya on Lawson Street
I see him all the time walking the streets with nothing to do.

He the type of brother pick pocketting a drunken man
or the one that would never take responsibility for his own seed.
But thats yo man, and now you carrying his baybe.  Girl he got 7 other
kids stored on Grotto in a subsidised duplex.  The floors covered with
roaches, the children sharing beds,pissy at that, I sat there a few times and
watched... he never shows up.

I know you dont like nobody telling you bout yo man ..but
girlfriend swing yo weave if you want to; by midnight he'll be pulling it out
and stepping off to see Marie, she the one with 3 kids by him on Selby.
He use to be tough , till the system got at em, took everythang he had, now he
trying to make a come back off you.  I know you declare yoself a strong black
sista..

but dookie braids dont make you African and yo job at Walmart won't get you far.
Wait till he see yo pay stub you gone get it.......2 kids, 5 abortions, herpes,
and an aids scare but
it was just a fever.

You have been played and now represent what every "man" is looking for....
Somebody to be his support system.
Let his butt fall down.
Michelle "Pineapple" Jones

My Lover, Her Man

Lost words lost love,  the big city lights are dim.  Thoughts of another time ..when I had everything and everything made sense.  Hours before the struggle I felt you pull away.  Bold enough to face the consequences of the. Choices we made long after midnight.  Those hours where most lovers sleep, as we once did when love existed.  The sun rose and definitely brought amongst the anger of the heat.  Moving so fast away from each other and still never found the opportunity to cool down.  We know where this is going.  When the bags began to fill with your belongings and phone calls went unreturned at four AM. 

Goodbye,  but maybe not, I'll always want to return even long after your love has faded for me.  We pass around love like confused predators ..unsure who to love,  we begin to sample those unlike what's familiar.  Today I want you..tomorrow I'll realize why hating you became relevant in the first place.  We started this all and let it fall apart right before we had a chance to reach a higher potential.  Look at all we invest in love and look at how much more we lose.  This is when time is your enemy ..where every moment you walk in life reminds you of the only lover you yearn for.  Drying tears for silent cries ..remembering why all those years before I'd never let you go..  because we chose this and because you loved me.  But now you love her.  My lover.. His lover.. Her man. 

The Midnight Train

The winter air interrupted the comfort and warmth of the subway train.  It was late, after midnight, when the passengers scurried from the smell of must, mixed perfumes and colognes.  A man tugged his pea coat tighter and moved away from traffic in quick motion.
It was days like this where he missed her touch the most.  In need badly just to see her face again, the thought of her almost too much to bare.  There was nothing more he wanted than heat.  To be near the warmth her soul had to offer.  He remember, for more than a moment, what it felt like to be whole, but shrugged the feeling of admiration away just as quick as the cold air swept past.  And that's what disturbed his mood- the past, the fact that it was all within reach at some point. 


And so he chose to return.. had found his black shiny shoes at the base of her wooden front door.  Ecstasy he didn't budge, a hand placed on the door knob.. he wanted to turn but decided against it.  Upstairs a room was lit.  A room he was familiar with.  He wondered if the walls still echoed with as much passion as they long ago created.  If ever there was a chance it was now...before his mind could think of any more reasons to turn away.  The time was now, his feelings immediate, and his fluttered heartbeats unsteady in anticipation.  


He knocked and held his breath before anymore rings could be created in the winter sky.  The night was perfect for love.  Perfect to touch.  He imagined the smell of a fresh fire burning, the taste of strawberries and vanilla from her lip gloss. And then he realized his knock had gone unanswered. 


He took a final look back at that light in the room and refused to move.  A slight sigh escaped from his lips in between thoughts of desperation and the unknown.  He knocked again, and this time the door opened.. 


No words were necessary.  Her face as lit as a Christmas tree, her eyes fresh with tears as if she remembered.  Before she could speak, before he could apologize an embrace occurred and nothing felt more real and honest.  He went in to kiss her, he wanted so bad to create and express his resentment for walking away so easily that day, with no explanation. 


The thought interrupted, urgency forgotten, the light from upstairs turned down to a romantic level.  That room..but who?  Music played softly... love music.  He wanted love, the music on Que, the moment perfect.  He looked past her shoulder, she unfazed, followed his stare. A reflection.  A voice he'd replay over and over like his regret had spoken.  "Baby.. are you coming back to bed?"  Her beautiful face returned  to face her past lover.  She spoke "It was nice of you to stop bye."  No more words were spoken, chance fading in the back light.  He wanted those unspoken words from moments before to mean something, anything.  


But just as he parted his lips to confess his love, she backed away.  Still sexy and mesmerizing, still with leftover tears that had dropped moments before the interruption.  The door closed.  The passion dead.  The wind screaming the words his heart didn't dare let out.  His moment gone.  His home occupied.  Love, unaware it had passed.  Unreachable, unforgiving.  


By, 
Michelle D. Jones

Everything You Knew

I can't even remember the last time I paid attention to time..
each moment is taken in stride, a slow motion feature, I savor inside..

Frustrated like Nathan McCall, this emotion "Makes Me Wanna Holler"...
It makes so much sense, yet others say.. why bother.

Well maybe it's his chocolate kiss, or when he's gone that I miss..
The way he loves over beats.. that keeps my mind taking trips.

His love she HAS to miss..
Maybe I should thank her for this opportunity of bliss..

He has arms I'd prefer to lay in..
The type of chest you cuddle all day in..

He is mine to persuade, we're taking chances-this is made..
but only because we chose it.

Touching like we've never touched..
Loving like we never lust..
We skip past sheers and laces..

The passion.. unheard of..
They try to understand but.. don't know us.

Secret, so we tried to creep..
Tossing and turning in bed wanting you..
Secrets.. I can't keep.

He is the light of the sun,
He protects the night like the moon..
He is everything I know..
And Everything you knew.


Michelle D. Jones

Excuse Me Sir

Excuse me sir... officer, judge; I said I didn't do it

I didn't beat that man to death and I swear that

I can prove it.

I was at a game in overtime when this crime was

going down.  I know there has to be several other

black tall men around.

The judge looked over to me and said I was the one to blame

he said even if It wasn't you we need someone to name.

It's lynching time around these parts and we need a man

that's black, handcuffed my hands, scuffed my head, then

threw me in the back.

I asked; but isn't this America? The land where everyone's free?

he said I'm sure there's been a mistake you see the free

they look like me.

I looked at my skin then at his and knew one thing was clear

20th Century racism exists, my hearts biggest fear.

They threw me in a cell with men all fighting, crying, to use the phone

all wishing America was a place that they could call a home

But I guess it's not, I know though now I'm just another face

judged soley on my born trait, I bare the negro race.

                                      
 By, Michelle D Jones

Broken 4 Repair

Broken 4 Repair

 

I shall not be the broken spirit

you tried so hard to manipulate.

 

You can send me to the judge

a million times and I'll still look him

in the face and say I am not a

"product" of my upbringing.

 

You can continue to shackle me

and my people, close the gates of freedom,

and deprive me of air, but your chains

will be broken.

 

If not by me, then by another person that

looks just like me, cept' this time they'll

be even bolder & sharper with their speech,

and education, together we'll inch closer

to having a voice.

 

And this time you'll listen and understand

and if you choose not to listen, we'll

continue to come forward, soldiers of our own war

not yours.

 

By, Michelle Jones

Nothing to Offer

I have nothing to offer this man

yet he takes everything I own,

I have nothing to offer-yet he calls my house

his home.

 

For what I had was stripped away

when my last lover left,

just faded memories and the world he left in a mess.

 

I have nothing to offer this man

so strong but shy in lust

not that he wants it anyway, he runs

away from my love.

 

And If I ask him to stay I have nothing left to give,

can't promise him the world, can't promise him kids.

 

I have nothing to offer this man

for he came with nothing at all,

I have nothing to offer this man,

so I won't even call.

All That I Am

Sometimes our hearts leak red blood internally.
It’s mostly when we’ve decided to give up, when all
Faith is thrown out the door, and we don’t have the strength
To run after it.
It’s like knives wounded bandage, it all becomes a Cycle, it’s all a part of the death in the air. I said I want to breathe, but the breath left long Before the wound became a scar. I am not a part of This world and never have I been. I want to be free like the waves on the ocean, a part Of history, a part the Caucasians read. But don’t act like you Understand me, like you’ve understood Civil Rights, because nothing
Is right about you, nor this time, nor your understanding. It’s like trying to escape locked doors, when you have the key In your right pocket. You can’t get to it, the good life I mean, Because the door has thousands of locks, and it would take patience
To figure out which lock fits the key. Who has time to try? I’ve noticed the clock doesn’t stop so I am running out of time
To get to nowhere. Momma needs me, my baby needs me, or maybe it’s all
Just a want. A need is to die for, and everyone is still alive, so I’ve
heard. There’s no need to speak when the words go unnoticed, so I guess I’ll shut up for now. This is the end anyway, all that was around the corner
is Gone from reach, like I’ve gone from you. I have separated and realized I am
all I need to be.

Michelle Jones

Love Flow

Love Flow

Baby, we should just let this love flow,

move to the drum beat and feel the sand between our toes.

Have drinks during the sunset or maybe lunch on the river,

We can kick it at the strip club, I won't get mad when you tip her.

Let's take a drive up the Ave, we can bend a few blocks; cause I love when we ride..

overlook the city in deep discussions, we have nothing to hide.

Put something in the air, relax and welcome the summer breeze,

hold me extra close cause with you there's no need to tease.

We can check out a movie and hold hands, but I like it when you rub,

you can chill with the homies at the bar while I get my dance on at the club.

Tell me all about your life and what it is you dream, then we can create the reality

with many beautiful scenes.

We can hit the park after dark and sit on the swings

while people walk by jealous of our team.

I think we're perfect as lovers, we're the perfect
match,

and to think we do it all with no strings attached.

Familiar Love

I don't wanna go back to that familiar place, where it's cold behind closed doors..

It's a place you say your loving me, but in love only I adore..

Where smiling is a past time and trust has no name,

A place I left in hopes of purity, where love has no shame.

I want a place where forever is a promise and there's no room to worry,

where years will pass between us and we won't be in a hurry.

A place where his touch is soft, and his days aren't filled with anger,

A place we use to know.. before life could ever change us.

I don't want to look back, because when I do, there's appears to be stranger,

someone I only knew inside my fantasies before my heart was tangled.

Where love isn't used or tossed around, but rather kept close,

so that when your name is spoken, it's you I smile from most.

I don't want to be your lover babe, I don't want to be your foe..

so I'm leaving that familiar place and locking every door.

Michelle "Pineapple" Jones

August 8th, 2011.