"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.)