New Year, New......Project (:

Hi, guys!

I've seriously been slacking on my blog--this past semester was absolutely ridiculous (6 classes = big mistake!) and I really didn't have the time and energy to write and update my blog like I wanted to. Now I'm on break and just taking a break from everything in general, so I'm slowly thinking of new topics to write about and discuss. The next big thing I really want to dedicate my time to is turning 20. My birthday is in 22 days, and I haven't even started yet. This is a really big deal for me, so what better way to commemorate this milestone than with poetry?! I'm so excited! So be on the lookout...it'll be published on my birthday, January 22.

2015 is only two days away and already I've seen posts about people saying the old "New year, new me" or something along those lines. Normally I avoid that for reasons I really don't want to get into, but because I've decided that turning 20 is a big deal, I do feel it's time for a change, as an individual and as a writer. I'm slowly starting to take steps to get out of this rut I've been in for the past year or so. After being at Marist for the past two years, I've realized what kind of person, student, and writer I want to be (not to mention my natural hair journey has also helped shaped these as well!). Despite the experience not being what I was expecting, I'm happy that I now know what I want. My 20th birthday is essentially the beginning of my new project: taking action steps now to get to where I need to be. That means changing environments, my mindset, my writing, my habits. I'm determined to make this my year.

XOXO,
Jay

P.S. I was going to make a list of my favorite posts from 2014...but I'm one of those artists who doesn't really like to look at his/her work. So feel free to browse through your favorites!

A Kiss

That last day of summer in our favorite spot
When your kisses were like snowflakes on eyelids
I could barely catch my breath
Each one placed randomly with such tenderness
And soft intent
They were drawing me more and more into you
It was magic
Falling in love all over again
So overwhelming that my tears fell like rain on a Saturday afternoon--
It was the most beautiful thing.

Hands Up, Don't Shoot

I became aware that I was Black when I started college last year. Understand what I'm saying: until I left my environment and came to one where hardly anyone looked like me, I was not aware of the color of my skin. A passion for learning about my culture and its history has always existed, but it's almost as if something lit a fire on that passion and now it's roaring out of control. This hunger to learn more, to be more politically active now exists and yet I feel starved. Sometimes I question if an HBCU would've been a better place for me, but I'm realizing that coming here was a wake-up call. Today we held a protest on campus, practically all day. When I got up this morning, I prayed, hoping that I would get to see others who care about what's going on in Ferguson as much as I do and want to bring awareness about what is going on to Marist. And there are. Between 12 and 8 we moved between the library and the dining hall, simply holding signs and passing out information. There were not many of us, but we still made a statement. I think about what happened during the Civil Rights Movement, and I feel obligated to do what those who came before me have done. This is our time; we should carry on that torch. I'm simply filled with joy to have met like-minded individuals, and I appreciate them for standing with us. And the general response from people was positive. Some clapped, some said thank you. It was amazing. I thank all of you for today; I cannot put into words how much it meant to me. I also thank my friends who came and stood with me and supported me. 

I learned a lot today, about myself, about my peers. It was a very eye-opening experience, and I'm ready to do more. Did you know that one of the major participants in the Civil Rights Movement were college students? What happened in the 1960s mirrors what is happening today. We have indeed come so far, but we've got so far to go. 

My First Love

To my first "love"--
If you thought this poem was going to be about you
You are sadly mistaken
This is for my first real love
Who made me fall in love with words and language
Whose metaphors send shivers down my spine
He introduced me to the essence of synecdoche and metonymy 
His rhythm makes me dance indefinitely
His cadence forcing me to catch my breath frequently
Infinite snaps to you, baby
And when his lines are harmonious
I swear I am on cloud nine
Getting off of that high is the last thing on my mind
Staring into his melancholy eyes
Allows me to see the world in a new light
He defies all of which I have ever known
Breaking rules that I've learned for years in school
Some see his madness as a delusion
I'd rather say that is exactly what he is acknowledging 
About this dry-ass reality
He is often misunderstood
His words often misconstrued
But I am infatuated by them
When he speaks to me
I am easily romanced by them 
Or easily confused
And I wonder if the way he speaks to me
Has made other hearts fall in love with him just as easily
I try to read between his lines
Dissect his stanzas
Look beyond his melodic phrases
Because real eyes realize real lies
His paradoxes are what stump me the most
The irony of them makes me wonder
And when wonder becomes questions 
Become assumptions become accusations
Becomes distrust becomes having had enough
He sweet talks me once again
And I fall in love with him once again
This is for you, my love
This, is for Poetry.

black bohemian rhapsody

this black woman
whose skin had been dipped in golden brown
and shimmers when sunlight kisses it
body covered in tattooed scars
hair braided long down her back
dancing a solo performance with no expectations
to her black girl's song
filled with whole notes and cacophony
her melody her lover has memorized
and croons like a songbird in the evenings
he has found beauty in her missteps
and when he joins her
there is such a thing as magic
she is queen
her hair is her crown
she is enameled in gold
ruling over all that is poetic
living among blank sheets
waiting to be filled
this is her home

Dark Room

Imagine sitting in a pitch-black room
Alone
Can't see anything, no kind of light is able to penetrate this kind of darkness
You are scared
You want to move
But how? Where will you go?
You can't see anything
Your heart is so heavy that it suffocates air going into your lungs
You cry
but that only impairs your vision even more
Mom is on the other end of the phone
trying to guide you out of this place
telling you, honey, you have to get out of there
But you can't move
Her love isn't enough to guide you out of this dark place
And you just sit there
Alone
In this pitch-black room
Suffocating
And crying
I used to think that I was untouchable,
that depression was just a neighbor I saw in the morning when I left for school
I'd laugh and say, no, I'm just going through something
This, too, shall pass
That I needed a doctor to tell me that I am suffering from it
But then I realized this darkness was almost inevitable
That it is a heavy cloak I wear every single day,
trying to hide it with a smile but concluding that that hurt way too much
I don't need a doctor to tell me what I feel in the pit of my stomach
That I am probably the 1 in 10 Americans who suffer from depression
That not a day goes by that I feel myself slipping back into my dark room
It scares me to know that I know this dark place
But do I think I have no way out?
That I will become the unfortunate few who succumb to it 
and live in eternal darkness?
No
I'm barely 20
I have yet to make my mark on this world
That is my light out of this dark room

Jada's Honest Poem

Hi, my name is Jada
In Hebrew that means wise, but I will believe almost anything
I was born on the 22nd of January--dead of winter,
how ironic it is that I am probably one of the warmest people you will ever meet
I am only 4'11, but I swear I am much bigger than that
I just don't want people to believe they can take advantage of me
Because small often times means weak
I don't know how to swim, which probably explains why
I find myself drowning in my own tears often
And I have a weakness for a guy who makes me drunk off of his play on words 
I'm still learning how to be sober
Because I fall for words from false lips
And often am too afraid to hear any truths
I was born a twin, and I've been afraid of lonely ever since
I like watching The Perks of Being a Wallflower
It comforts me in knowing that people just like me exist
We see things, we keep quiet about them, and we understand.
We are wallflowers.
I've been told I trust too easily,
That I always see the good in every single person I meet,
Ignore the bad signs,
And then become surprised when they do me wrong
I get really nervous when someone tells me how beautiful I am
It's not that I never thought so; 
I just didn't think anyone ever noticed me
I have an odd fascination with trees and lying in grass
They remind me of the first time I fell in love
And I feel him there whenever I'm in the presence of either
I guess that's why I have attachment issues 
I know it sounds crazy but it reminds me that I'm not afraid to get close to people
But I am scared to death when things stop going well and I may lose someone
Someone I have deemed as an important character in my story
I'm very clumsy
One day I tripped over my insecurities 
Landed on my self-esteem
And it shattered like a fallen mirror
And has never been right ever since
I've never liked taking risks
But I have this red badge of courage that makes me go after things that may hurt me
I wonder what my walls say about me when I'm not around
I go in my room 
Close my door
Undress my armor
And lie in my truth
But I don't tell it as much as I should
My name is Jada
I am a small person with a big voice and a big heart
I am a walking contradiction
I enjoy playing with animals, waking up late, and laughing until I cry
I have a solar-powered smile
And a battery-operated confidence
My hobbies currently include:
Editing my imperfections
Hiding behind my pen
And trying to convince my heart that it's not in love with the wrong person
I don't know much but I do know this:
That I am destined to write the wrongs of this world
And I know that one day somebody will love my scars
Just as much as I love theirs

My Weekend with BLAC

Hello, everyone!

This weekend I had the privilege of attending Teach for America's Black Leaders and Achievers Caucus (BLAC) in NYC where a group of young, Black leaders from a variety of colleges in New York gathered to discuss what it means to be Black leaders and how we can work towards education equity in our communities. When I first heard about this amazing opportunity, I figured it would be a chance for me to learn how I can work towards making changes for students of color at Marist. What ended up happening was totally unexpected.

As we dove into conversations surrounding our identities, how we made it to where we are in our lives, what we are doing on our college campuses, and what it means to be a Black male or female, I did a lot of self-reflection on my own circumstances and essentially had an "A-ha!" moment. I realized that the kind of thought-provoking conversations we were having was something that was missing in my life and have not happened since I graduated from high school. It also made me realize that I am not happy in my current situation, and I need to make some changes in my life. I have always enjoyed speaking with like-minded individuals who were just as passionate as I am about being Black and who wanted to make an impact on their communities. Not only did I learn about myself and what I want to do in my life right now, I figured out a career path that I have been battling with for awhile now: teaching.

When I tell people I am an English major, the first question they ask is, "Oh, you want to be a teacher?" and sometimes the tone comes off as condescending (or maybe I am just extremely sensitive). I always laugh and say no, but I have struggled it with it because although I've looked up to my teachers who made such an impact on me and wanted to do the same for the next generation, I wondered if it would be enough for me to feel like I accomplished something. After speaking with my peers and the staff of Teach for America who were present, I realized we all felt the same. Why not go into teaching, Jada? Be like your NSA teachers! 

I have learned more about myself in the last two days, talking to people who looked like me, were experiencing similar things as me, and who wanted to make a difference in their communities, than I have in my first as a college student. Some changes have to be made. I am so fired up (in a good way) to do something meaningful instead of trying to get by in school. 

I would like to thank my extended family, Ali and McIntire, for letting me know about this caucus. I would also like to thank my young, Black brothers and sisters who helped to reignite a passion in me to do my part as a Black woman on my campus and to also work towards heading back to Newark eventually to give back. That is what my high school taught me: And when you succeed, what will you do? Give back to others.

I'm on a mission. I will keep you all posted.

Much love,
Jay

Confessions of a Sleepaholic

Sleep doesn't even belong to me anymore--
it belongs to us, or more so you than me.
Conversations now only exist beyond the real world every night,
climbing into bed alone in silence only to somehow find myself in you again
but then waking up to you being so far away--physically and emotionally.
I feel like I've just seen you, heard you laugh, felt your touch
only to realize that those moments are just figments of my subconscious.
You're not even real, and yet I wake and find myself missing you
or being upset over something you've said.
Whatever happened to sleep belonging to me?
Displaying my deepest desires, showing me what to make of my circumstances...
Are you now over-powering my desires and my circumstances?
You have way too much control over my mind, my feelings;
I can't stop thinking.
I can't stop feeling
Nothing seems to belong to me anymore.
Now the one moment I find peace you somehow meet me there--
whether it be a smile or a scowl.
Either I dread sleep or I look forward to it, it doesn't matter.
All roads lead right back to you.
I used to love sleeping,
escaping from my harsh reality into what seemed like perfection.
But now when I think I'm escaping my reality,
it's there in my dreams, slyly smiling in my face.

Reminiscing

Dear Readers,

I've made it a point to walk on the grass whenever I'm walking around campus. Not only have I noticed that it has cut my traveling time to and from classes down significantly, I simply love how the grass feels under my feet. Today, I walked through some grass and passed under this big tree. For that brief moment, I was taken back to the spring and summer months I had spent so much time under trees in the park with a friend, talking and laughing as if no time existed. I found something poetic about it but couldn't find the right words to create a poem, so I'm writing this. It was during that time I was able to connect so deeply with this friend, where many of my heart-felt poems were born, and where I've realized marked a significant change in my life. I just felt like sharing since I haven't found anything to write.

Have any of you been writing? Share with me if you'd like!

--Jay

Oops Again!

Readers, hello!

As you all know, I just started my second year of college, and in these last two weeks, I have been ridiculously busy! I haven't really had any down time to really write, although something potentially may be in the works (stay tuned!). It feels like I haven't even been here for two weeks; it feels much longer! I've been having so much fun, and my suitemates are just dolls! Shout out to them (hey y'all!). It seems as though my second year is going to be much, much better than my first, and I am so excited for it! 

Go ahead and reread some of your old favorites; I know that's what I'll do once I finally get a chance to sit and relax. Also, I love doing Poet/Artist Spotlights, so please don't hesitate to email me or text me (if you have my number) and ask me to feature your piece. Don't feel intimidated either; I love supporting other artists and their work.

XOXO,
Jay

"How do you know that you love me?"

"How do you know that you love me?" he asked, not because he didn't believe she did, but because he was genuinely curious. 

She giggled, tugging at a loose stitching in her pants. After some time, she finally said: "You know how in The Giver Jonas sees the color red for the first time, and he's, like, really excited? That's how it is every single time I see you. You bring a certain calmness to my spirit. You're always with me wherever I go. It's like when you wake up on the first day of Spring and smell the Spring air coming through your window." She turned to him and smile. "If that doesn't make sense, then just accept that I just do. There's no explanation or logic when it comes to love."

Toast to New Beginnings!

Hi, Readers!

I've realized that these mini letters I write to you also are very helpful to me. Not all the time poetry is satisfying; sometimes just writing down what I'm thinking is more therapeutic. I hope that you all are writing as well. People always ask me, "Jada, is this a poem? Is this good?" And my answer is always the same: there is no real way of writing poetry. People try to analyze whether a piece of writing is or isn't poetry, but I feel like those kinds of restrictions limit the individual. If you are just starting out, just write. That's what I did. Don't worry about stanzas, lines, syllables, etc. Just write whatever is in your head, and if a metaphor is what is in your head, then write it. Eventually you can learn about all the different types of poetry and try them, but don't limit yourself.

I went off on a tangent, but the reason I'm writing this is because I've been stressed out about beginning a new year in college, friendships, and just life in general. As I mentioned before, I'll be turning 20 in a few months, and for me, that marks a brand new beginning. So when I leave for school on Saturday, that's when it will begin. So I let go of whatever fears I've been harboring and just decided that I will just live. I will make school work for me and not the other way around, the people who are in my life right now and have made it with me this far are supposed to be here (and I am forever grateful for all of you, you know who you are!), and I'm about to start a brand new decade of my life. I'm very sensitive about my relationships with the people around me, and I care about maintaining a healthy friendship with them. But for those who have stuck by me and put up with me, you are truly special to me and have a place in my heart always. No matter how far apart we go, I know we'll always come right back as if no time has passed.

I am so excited about this new journey! No more negativity, no more stress, no more sadness, and no more sad poems hopefully, too!

Que sera, sera!
Jay

I Am Woman

This is a man's world...
This is a man's world--but it wouldn't be nothing without a woman.

A woman.

Woman finds herself deep in love with man, invested in man,
losing herself trying to love him so he will love her at the same magnitude.
Woman will do anything to keep her man, so she gives him all of her being, allowing him to suck life out of her.
Woman can't even remember who she is without her man.
And man becomes so accustomed to woman asking nothing of him--he can't be changed.
Then woman finds herself stuck...and unhappy,
because she loves her man.
Woman will drown in her own tears before she walks out on man,
losing her mind, going half-crazy, letting him dominate the essence of her being.

This can't be woman...

So what does it mean to be woman?

Aimes-toi--love yourself.
Love yourself enough to know you deserve better.
Understand that your kind of love is special.
Find your inner beauty when you stare at your reflection, turn your scars into art, stories.
Loving yourself also means respecting yourself.
Respect your mind and your body for they are sacred.

Know thyself.
Know who you are, what you want, where you stand, so that you'll never lower your standards for one-night stands and five minutes of insane pleasure.
Know that you will never need a man to fulfill you, his only job is to complement what is already established so he can never ever break you or make you feel broken.

Walk with grace, elegance.
Stand tall.
Dress with class.
Speak with intelligence.
Build your empire.

So when you finally see your reflection you can say,

I am woman.

Scratch that--

I am Queen.

Roaring Twenties!

Hi, Readers!

August so far has been very eventful for my blog. I know I say this all the time, but thank you so much for reading and sharing my writing. I've received so many kind words from family, friends, extended friends, etc. It only encourages me to write more, and I am very grateful for all of the support.

Sooo....I'm turning 20 in exactly 5 months (tomorrow), and this is a big deal for me. I'm thinking of some kind of writing project to do in honor of turning 20. I'm thinking maybe 20 odes to 20 people I've met all the way up until this point, or 20 poems about different moments in my life that have impacted me and shaped me into who I will be on the 22nd of January. Whatever it is, I'm really looking forward to it! In the days leading up to my birthday, I will be posting it.


Much Love,
Jay

Photo: Dead Poets Society

Are You There, God? It's Me, Jada.

Day 1:
Are you there, God? It's me, Jada. It's...been awhile. Too long, maybe. My grandmothers said that if I ever need anything, ask you and you will supply it. I feel bad for calling on you when I feel like I'm at my lowest...I will try to do my best from now on. But I need help. Please help me to get over this part of my life, heal my heart, and calm my spirit. Amen.

Day 11:
Are you there, God? It's me, Jada. I've had several conversations about whether or not you are real. It did bother me because I was raised in the church and hardly ever missed a Sunday service. But I got older and started to understand things more, and I saw things I just didn't understand. I really want to believe you exist. I've been in a lot of emotional pain...please. Help me. Amen.

Day 22:
Are you there. God? It's me, Jada. I haven't been sleeping. I keep having these dreams; my spirit is really bothered. Please protect me while I'm sleeping. I'm still in pain. I can't stop crying, and I don't know what else to do. Are you still listening? I need some kind of sign.

Day 31: 
Are you still there, God? It's me, Jada. I just wanted to say I know that was you. Thank you. When I lost religion, I found you. Amen.

Photo: Writing

Poet Spotlight: Untitled by Christian McIntire

In light of the recent events in Ferguson, Missouri, I shared three pieces on here earlier this week and received an email from my former teacher about them, who, in turn, shared a piece he had written last summer after the verdict in the Trayvon Martin case. This piece is seriously deep and amazing and is very much pertinent to today's circumstances. Enjoy!

Where were you when it happened?
When the lynch mob arrived,
and the court of public opinion
put blackness on trial?

Me? I was still thinking –
thinking, of the color of my skin.
My skin: a hood of exceptional power.
If exercised,
it is the hood of a Klansman.
Of institutionalized oppression;
of enslaved Africans in state penitentiaries;
of confined minds in sterile elementaries.

But I’m not one to stand up for white supremacy.

Now? Now I’m Feeling.
Believing.

The color of MY skin,
is a hood of exceptional power.
If challenged,
it is a hood of solidarity.
Of consciousness and community,
with my black and brown children and their families;
of seeking to dismantle what you seek to uphold;
of hope –
I hope audaciously to struggle against the status quo.

Where were you when it happened?
When the lynch mob arrived?
Did you stand up –
pop the right hood up –
when the death of a child
became the trial of our brothers?

Where will you be when our next child is taken?
What are we going to do

when the lynch mob arrives again?

Thank you, McIntire! I swear I read this over and over again; it is extremely powerful!

In Class Thoughts

You ever write something, forget about it, and then find it again months later? This happens to me ALL THE TIME! This piece was written while I was sitting in one of my classes. I had become frustrated about the way the class was going and tuned out, writing this. This doesn't have a title; I was just "speaking my mind." I know that race is a very touchy, sensitive topic, and I do not mean to offend anyone nor is this about any particular individual. This is simply my thoughts.

The white man told me that I, too, could live the dream of being in a world with fellow intellectuals, 
to have thought-provoking seminars and participate in many leisure activities on the green pasture.
But little did we know as we signed away the check we were striking a deal with the devil.
Ignorance stalks by me as I walk, it lives in the dorms at every corner I turn, it even lies in the bed across from mine.
I try to ignore it but it flaunts so viciously that I can't help but notice it.
There is a lack of hunger to want to learn more
and instead is substituted with just wanting to pass.
And they judge me now because of the color of my skin and ostracize me out of their college games.
This isn't what I signed up for.

Excerpt from "Black Like Me?"

In my second semester of college, I was taking a writing class, and my professor (who I now adore!) told us to write a paper about a time where we felt like an outsider. I immediately decided to write about my experience thus far at Marist. I was nervous about handing in my paper, but he said it was well-written and very honest. Here's an excerpt from my essay, "Black Like Me?"

"College is supposed to be a time where people figure out who they are. We are surrounded by new people with different backgrounds and experiences, and by simply learning of who they are, we gain new perspectives as well. However, since I’m been at Marist now for seven months, the only thing that I have learned is that the world is filled with so many people who do not have an open-mind and are culturally ignorant. I am appalled and find myself hanging on to anyone and anything that reminds me of home. By anything I mean music I once criticized but now get excited when I hear, TV shows, movies, article and stories that reinforce my pride of being a young black woman. By anyone I mean the minority, whether he or she is Black, Hispanic, or accepting of me as a Black individual. This is not what I wanted. I never wanted to feel like I have to prove myself in order to make people understand that many stereotypes of Black people do not apply to every single Black person. I never wanted to miss home so much because I feel like I cannot relate to anyone but Black and Hispanic kids. I never wanted to only befriend minority students. I wanted change. I wanted something different than what I have been used to for nineteen years. 

The only other thing I have learned is how to be alone and understand who Jada is without anyone else. Being alone used to terrify me; I never knew what it was like to be an only child, and I have always been outgoing and had a lot of friends. But I was forced to be alone once I started college. I was the first student ever in my high school to be accepted to and attend Marist, so I knew no one else coming here. I have never spent so much time by myself, and it depressed me so much that I began to look into transferring to somewhere more diverse. Now I am somewhat appreciative of that experience because I no longer fear being alone. At the same time, however, this is all I will remember about my first year of college. And it is not fair. 

I feel as though I have been robbed of a real college experience. Not to say that everyone is supposed to have the same experience, but I was robbed of a good one because of what I look like. Who I am did not matter; I never had a problem with getting along with and meeting other people up until this point in my life. Now in my second semester, the option of transferring is gone, and I am fighting for my right to have the same opportunity to an unforgettable and positively life-changing experience as my white peers. Marist was my top choice school; I was lured in by the many opportunities it promised in its introduction video and believed that it was the right fit for me. Not only that, but I deserved to attend this school because I worked so hard in the last eight years at my very rigorous middle and high school.

 I have felt like I cannot truly be myself in addition to the fact that now I know what it truly means to be a minority. Sometimes it feels like I’m standing on the outside looking in at everyone else who is having the time of their lives while I’m hoping for the days to end quickly so I can go back home where I feel more comfortable. I do not want to try to fit in and assimilate; I simply want to be accepted and recognized for who I am, but they cannot seem to get past my skin color. It is as if it is a barrier and if they cross it, I will unleash whatever horrible rumor they have heard about my people. And that is their problem: there is no one exactly like me. I am not the spokesperson for all Black people. I do not have the same exact experiences as my Black peers although many of them are similar. Unlike what they have seen or heard, I am not ghetto. I speak well and eloquently (poor grammar is actually one of my biggest pet peeves!). I went to a really good high school and got a top notch education. People who have a similar background as me are not represented in the media, and so we get grouped in with the rest and are labeled as “All Black People.” How can I change the way they look at me, at us?"

Dear Little Brother

Dear Little Brother,

For four years the only thing of this world you have known is
love.
Lots of love and hugs and kisses
Laughter and tickles
Disney and Nick, Jr.
You have a smile that lights up our world and a laugh that rumbles through it and fills our hearts.
I always wanted a brother.
You, Little Brother, are precious.

I am afraid though, Little Brother, that you will soon grow up and know
the real world.
Lots of ugliness and hatred 
Violence and destruction
Degradation of a generation.
Our world is nothing like yours is now, Little Brother, and I wish we could keep you in yours forever.

For protection.

Because when they see the color of your skin at age 17 wearing a hoodie, they will see you as a threat, not as the lovable young man I had the privilege of watching you grow up into.

Trayvon and Michael could've been my little brother.
They could've been you.

My president is black
but that doesn't mean this country has progressed so don't let anyone tell you that slavery is long gone, that you have no reason to be angry,
because embedded into the very flesh and blood of this nation
is a hatred for black people and especially
black men.

Little Brother,
you have only known four years of love and hugs and kisses and laughter and tickles and Disney and Nick, Jr.
You are precious.
I wish that I can keep you in that world forever.
Hopefully the world is a much better place when the time comes for you to meet it.

*For all the black men who lost their lives due to police brutality.

Photo: Writing Binder

This binder contains about three years of writing. I love to write my poems by hand first and then transfer them to the computer. There's something about the art of writing, drafting, and revising that the computer can't quite do! I literally sleep with it next to me every night, just in case some brilliant thought pops into my head! This particular piece is the draft of my most viewed poem, "The Morning After!" (There is another page I used as well!) Just thought I'd share that with you all.

Happy Writing!

Jay

P.S. If you want to read/watch "The Morning After," check out the left hand column of my blog. My most-viewed poems are listed there, and this one is the first!

Coffee Shop Blues

We meet at our usual spot again--
completely secluded from the rest of the world.
And time.
We fill up each other's mugs with laughter,
toast to carefree evenings,
drink the day away,
get high off of nostalgia,
sit in silence and stare in each other's eyes.
I'm afraid to admit that I'm falling more and more in love with you
so when you ask why I'm staring I shake my head
and take another sip,
turning my attention to the spilled reflection of the sunset into the lake.
How beautiful.
I do mean you too.
We wrap ourselves up into each other and kiss away bad yesterdays
for this moment here is all that really matters.
When it's closing time, I'm simply overwhelmed with sadness
that time wouldn't permit us another cup.

Can't we always live in this world and just call it ours?

Haunted

When night comes and nothing but the soft, evening breeze fills my ears,
I can hear him coming.
I avert my eyes away from the door--
I know he is standing there.
Please, I plead, just go.
He doesn't say a word but continues to just--stand there. Waiting.
If I pretend he isn't there and fall asleep somehow he will enter my dreams and I'm awake again.
Other times he'll lie right next to me and then I can't sleep.
One night I asked him, What do you want from me? and he unpacked all of which I had stored away--
and I wept. Hysterically. Quietly. 
How could you be so cruel? To me?
He won't leave, and I don't know how to make him stay away.
But every night.
Every. 
Single.
Night.
He's there.
At my door.
Waiting.
I don't know what to do with him. Would you like an invitation to bother my spirit some more?
To interrupt my mind once again?
To cause more damage and then leave?
Nothing.
No response. 
During the day he's gone and I can finally sleep.
But I dread nighttime because I know
he'll be here once again.

When I Was a Little Girl

When I was a little girl I wanted to be beautiful.

I wanted long, silky hair that grew down my back. 
I wanted to paint my face like the women in Ma's Black Hair magazines. 
I wanted to "smize" the way Tyra Banks taught her aspiring models. 
I wanted to stop traffic and turn heads by simply walking like Marilyn Monroe in her movies, 
with her shoulders tucked back and her head held high and the way her hips would swivel. 
I wanted a man to fall in love with my eyes, 
because they were the only things on the outside of me that could never tell a lie and when he did, 
I would know that he was okay with who I was. 
And once he discovered my truth, he would think I was even more beautiful 
and love me even more.

When I was a little girl I wanted to be loved, too.

Not like the cliched lie Disney told,
where a perfect princess in an unfortunate circumstance is rescued by a charming prince
whom she never met before and fall absolutely in love and live

happily. ever. after.

I wanted him to stay long enough and dig behind the makeup, the laughter, the smile
and to find my nakedness enchanting and captivating.
I could stand before him with puffy eyes filled with tears and my heart on my sleeve--
and he wouldn't run away.
He'd find me even more beautiful than before.

When I was a little girl I wanted to be beautiful enough to be truly loved.

In Memoriam: Marilyn Monroe wrote poetry, too!

Today marks the anniversary of the sudden death of Hollywood actress, Marilyn Monroe. Many of you know that I am obsessed with her! I've watched several documentaries about her and even some of her movies. I learned so much and have come to really appreciate her. She took the art of acting very seriously and did her best and beyond to perfect her work. She is truly an inspiration. When I found out that she also wrote poetry, I was beyond ecstatic. According to immortalmarilyn.com, Norman Rosten wrote: "She would often hand me a scrap of paper with something written on it & ask, 'Do you think this is poetry? Keep it & let me know.' Or she'd send a scribbled sheet in the mail asking for criticism. I would always encourage her. The poems were, in the best sense, those of an amateur; that is, they pretended to be nothing more than an outburst of feeling, with little or no knowledge of the craft. But the poet within her - & one existed - found a form for her purpose." Here is one of her many poems. Rest in Peace, Ms. Monroe.

Life-
I am of both your directions
Existing more with the cold frost
Strong as a cobweb in the wind
Hanging downward the most
Somehow remaining
those beaded rays have the colours
I've seen in paintings-ah life
they have cheated you
thinner than a cobweb's thread
sheerer than any-
but it did attach itself
and held fast in strong winds
and singed by the leaping hot fires
life-of which at singular times
I am both of your directions-
somehow I remain hanging downward 
the most
as both of your directions pull me.

Photo: A Dedication

Last Poem (Lyrics Medley)

I don't think I could keep writing you into poetry anymore...you've lost the privilege to have such recognition. And my heart wishes it hadn't come to this. I've been writing to resurrect you to no avail.

I'm so tired of all the love wounds.
Loving you is like running, like I'm chasing down a loving and there's no finish line in sight.
I would have gone to the ends of the Earth for you even though you didn't ask me to just to make you feel my love.
I would have rather gone through storms with you 
than be enamored of someone else
but my heart can't take any more of you and I'm simply just getting used to you no longer being here.
I let my heart take its chances just to be loved by you 
but now you're gone and I'm missing you when I really shouldn't have to...why do you choose to be incapable of loving me too?

I remember when you filled my heart with joy
I was so mesmerized by the shape of your eyes and the bass in your laugh and the way you saw me, I've been lost in you...you don't see me anymore.
You've so easily set me aside. I've come to the dark realization that I can never touch you again when I had to ask for permission to place my hand on your cheek...someone else has been there, too, it seems.
And I've cried.
I have lain in soaked bed sheets for over a year, hoping they'd create tracks to help you find your way back to me.
My heart and my mind have been in constant battle
It kills me to know how much I really love you and you play it so cool, I can't tell anymore if you love me still.
You said you 'd always be there for me and that things would be okay...I waited for you, but you never showed. 

I've taken everything that is you and your poems too and buried them deep deep inside of me because I've given up this fight so when night comes I'll slip away so that I'll just be a dream you remember when you wake up in the morning but then will eventually forget. 

You're the one that I love, and I'm saying goodbye.

(Featuring lyrics from: Adele, Eric Benet, Anthony Hamilton, Jennifer Hudson, Melanie Fiona, Me'shell NdegeOcello, and A Great Big World.)

Monologue

Where have you gone now?

It's been...far too long since we've last spoken.
I can't even remember how my name sounds when you speak.
You have become a dream I am trying to remember, your face is so clouded in my mind,
I don't know anymore if our interactions really happened because you come and go like a swing
At the highest point where I'm frozen in the air
I try to savor every single word you say, the rise in your chest as I lean against you, the look in your eyes,
because before I know it I'll be coming back down again,
we will be bidding our farewells,
and I will watch as you leave in the distance,
wondering when I'll feel you again.

Are you even real anymore?

Your laughter used to ring in my ears at night 
and your singing is what lulled me right to sleep.
But those sounds are childhood memories that I try so hard to recall.
I call you and get no response
and I wonder if you were just part of my imagination
manifested to take me away from my dark reality,
lying under stars by train tracks and losing track of time.
Maybe I've forced myself to believe that you existed, 
like a child and her imaginary friend who only appears at playtime...but I don't want to play...
so maybe that's why you don't come around anymore.

Did you ever really love me?
Did you?

I used to believe in you like people believe in shooting stars
but the only difference for me would be that I'd stare into your eyes
and you'd tell me, "I really love you." 
And you would stay. You would stay.
But I guess you are a shooting star after all because
you came into my life so quickly and you're leaving just the same,
right when I've accepted that I love you.
When you opened your hand to me and I placed mine into it,
I thought that this journey would be one we would endure--together.
But lately I've been wandering down this road for so long
And I'm tired--
I am so tired.
And I can't find you anywhere.
Anywhere.

Why won't you stay with me?
Because...I just want to be enough for you. 
This is so real to me...please don't let me bear this alone.
Come out from wherever you are
and I'll hold your hand and never let go.
I'll have your back as long as you have mine.

But do you still love me?
Do you?

Oops!

Hi, Readers!

Well, we are well into July...and I still haven't posted a poem/prose yet. Writer's block is the devil! Even the little project I was working on has come to a halt; I have misplaced my muse, it seems. Maybe this month will just be a break, because I literally cannot think of anything to write or to say...for now. Tonight I am feeling a little artsy, as I have picked up my drawing once again this summer. A miracle may just happen tonight. In the meantime, feel free to reread any of your favorites, and I will be back very soon!

--Jay 

The Ugly Truth

The little girl inside of me used to believe in Disney
that there was a Prince Charming for her too
and he will love her in all of her glory.
What Disney didn't tell her about love
is how much pain it can cause.

So I told her, If I ever (ever fall) in love again
I'll tread the waters with such caution
so that I'll never ever drown again.

But everything changed when our eyes met.

I didn't realize how deeply I had fallen in them
until I couldn't remember what your singing to me sounded like
and the way the corners of your mouth curled up into a smile.
Now I'm standing on the other side of a love song.
Nights have turned into late-night cravings for your touch
and I worry I am asking for too much.
Our connection has been weakening 
as someone else places their hand upon your arm.

Where had we gone so wrong?

She lies next to me on drenched bed sheets
and I'm trying to tell her that I'm sorry,
I promise her that I will do better,
that I should have done more to protect her
unintentionally exposing her to your imperfections.
Our hearts are crying out to you
wondering why you cannot hear us.
Constantly waking to our worst nightmare
realizing that you are no longer there.

I don't know what will give me the strength
to make me just walk away
because the only answers my prayers have been given
are of a stranger I refuse to believe in.
Or have you been fooling me?
Playing with my heart, taking me for granted?

You still make my heart beat.
But you are slowly killing me.

I cannot blame Disney for not telling her the ugly truth
because she's simply too young to understand
that fairytales and mankind just don't go hand-in-hand.