Hidden

We always met in an open field away from
any sign of life. It made me feel special at first,
but this is the only way he could love me. Just
as night is beginning to take over and the sun
is leaving behind a pallet of pinks and oranges,
he pulls me in as my body begins to shiver--
first from the chill and then from anticipation. I sit
with my back pressed against his beating heart;
feels like booted feet running against wooden floors,
the steps growing louder and louder as he
presses me deeper into him. We thrive in silence. 
It is our own language. After several moments, 
his wet tongue trips over my right ear 
and I giggle, eventually cringing from anticipation
again. And there we are again, the grass our 
support, our hands not getting enough of each
other, blessing bruises like pastors, kissing scars
like mothers, melting into each other like ice on tongues. 
I would lose myself in trying to love him. When it is 
too dark to see our black bodies anymore, we break 
in silence.  I try my best to regain my scattered self 
as he stands near the banks and howls at the moon. 
I am trying to remember every little detail, 
just in case this is our last time. But it never felt like 
the last time. Our laughter echoing through trees and 
train tracks, kissing each other like rain droplets falling 
on eyelids felt like forever. When we returned to the city, 
no one ever knew he loved me.

Gone Girl

barefooted black girl
                       nappy hair in disarray

tears falling down the paths of predecessors

                       brown dress torn against bruised skin
chasing little boys down

                       dirt path roads
dust staining her black skin

                       chasing daddy

though he's long gone
                       ma's been crying for her to come back home

her grandmothers' prayers howling in the wind

Lord please guide her
                       back home

you poor girl

                      poor little brokenhearted black girl
these little boys can't love you

                       you poor girl
daddy should've taught you

                        what love is supposed to be

In Memoriam: I, Too, Sing America

Today is not only the first day of Black History Month, but it also Langston Hughes' birthday, one of the most prominent writers during the Harlem Renaissance. Happy birthday, Mr. Hughes, and thank you for your amazing contributions to Black art and literature. It is only fitting that I post this poem in honor of Black History Month. Enjoy!

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I’ll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.

Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed—


I, too, am America.

Romance

What ever happened to Romance?
The sweet dance in dim light to jazz musicians
His rhythmic, steady sway sending shivers down my spine
A sip of Roscato wine as he stares into my eyes
Undressing my mind and not my red dress this time
Do you mind? he would say
Extends his hand to mine and whisks me away into the night
We would explore the city's nightlife 
With palms clasped like praying hands
Praying that this isn't another fall from grace
Preying on only laughter and smiles 
He barely brushes his lips against my right cheek
His fingers lightly resting on the small of my back
Aimlessly guiding me through the beginning spaces of his heart
Showing me his artistic lines and poetic melodies 
His honesty is almost overwhelming
I would almost be foolish to not give this a chance
This is, after all, a first taste of Romance
He would then take my hand and twirl me in the street
And if it rains--
Even better
May I have this last dance? he would say
I throw my head back
And laugh into the rain

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.