Umpteen years later, down the road, the 3rd house from the end. That's where you woulda found me. Finger tips are cold, but I feel as if I am burning up from fever. I remeber when we met. I told my mom about her. "Your fingers are cold. You are in love", that's what she said. My mother and her superstitions... Guess it works the same way when you are falling out of love.
Cold turkey, that's what I will call this one. Cold sweats and waking up all through the night. The emotional overdose had been readily available. At my disposal, if I can say that. My own personal rollercoaster. The ups and the downs. You know, that feeling you get in your stomach when you go over a hump too fast. "When your heart falls in you stomach", that's what it's called. If ever I want to go to ecstacy it was right there at home.
Funny how ironic life is. You build to break. You get on the edge but you can't jump. Where is the fun in irony? Especilly now. Mama said "Sometimes you have to bleed out, let the wounds heal, and try it again". Or my favorite, "Get back up and try again. I didn't raise a quitter." After I got used to not falling though... It hurt that much more when I try to stand again.
Umpteen years later, down the road, the 3rd hous from the end that's where I was. Purging. Cleansing my body. "Cold Turkey", losing the addiction. That addiction. COld fingers, cold sweat, but you are balled up under that blanket. The hunger for that high supresses you appetite. I answer my phone attempting to hide that lump my your throat. Knowing that question "What's wrong?" always releases it. Shivering lips and shaky, sweaty hands. Open heart, funny how faliing in and out of love, hmph... Same symptoms differnt illness.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Personalntrest(Addiction) "Fatal Attraction"
Thinking, if I would have known from the start I'd still be here... I don't know why she had that control over me. Why she could alter my emotion with one word. I don't know where that fiery passion came from. I dont know why I got feelings involved. I don't know why they never went away. I don't know why the sky is blue or the grass geen.
Life loves the liver of it. Do I embrace it, cherish it, shelter it? By doing this do I not cease to live just a little? Wuth that being said , am i careless, wrecklees, and do I juts live for the thrill? Forgetting ones personal welfare, for the sake of ones happines. "Sometimes not feeling, is the best feeling at all" -Jonesy.
Fatal Attraction is what I will call this on. Fatal, but what does it matter. Even the Constitution states that i have ther right to pursue happiness. My mom taught me "trouble is trouble no matter how pretty it is dressed up". She also taught me " You must truly ndure hard times, in order to cherish good ones." Also, "Every well lit room has a dark corner." Lastly " If there is something you want, and it maks you happy then FIGHT, with every bit of energy your body can exeert. If it comes crashing down in the end, you will know that you put our all into it"
Hey mama, I guess your boy has become a man.I don't know why I am so forgiving. I dont know why I am so emotional. I dont know why God chose to give me this gift of expression. I dont know why she can take control over me. I dont know why I fell obliged, happily though.
I do know My mother raised me to be a man A thinker and a lover. A fighter when time called for it. A lover of good times. And the opressor of bd times. A voice of my silent emotion. By living my life. I eill Pursue nd achieve happiness. No matter how much I have to fight, cry, love, be hurt. I know in the end i witnessed the darkest of the dark to achieve my light...
-iJonesy
Life loves the liver of it. Do I embrace it, cherish it, shelter it? By doing this do I not cease to live just a little? Wuth that being said , am i careless, wrecklees, and do I juts live for the thrill? Forgetting ones personal welfare, for the sake of ones happines. "Sometimes not feeling, is the best feeling at all" -Jonesy.
Fatal Attraction is what I will call this on. Fatal, but what does it matter. Even the Constitution states that i have ther right to pursue happiness. My mom taught me "trouble is trouble no matter how pretty it is dressed up". She also taught me " You must truly ndure hard times, in order to cherish good ones." Also, "Every well lit room has a dark corner." Lastly " If there is something you want, and it maks you happy then FIGHT, with every bit of energy your body can exeert. If it comes crashing down in the end, you will know that you put our all into it"
Hey mama, I guess your boy has become a man.I don't know why I am so forgiving. I dont know why I am so emotional. I dont know why God chose to give me this gift of expression. I dont know why she can take control over me. I dont know why I fell obliged, happily though.
I do know My mother raised me to be a man A thinker and a lover. A fighter when time called for it. A lover of good times. And the opressor of bd times. A voice of my silent emotion. By living my life. I eill Pursue nd achieve happiness. No matter how much I have to fight, cry, love, be hurt. I know in the end i witnessed the darkest of the dark to achieve my light...
-iJonesy
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Stereotype
Nigga..Nigger. I do not usually use the word. But today I decided I would embrace it. I will be a Nigga, even if it makes me a Nigger. I will allow Nigga/Nigger to be my best friend and my enemy. My brother. I will be Colored. Look at television sets, even they agree. Without a little color shit is simply boring. I won't be a Nigger and feed into your stereotypes. But I will be a Nigga. I am a man. Muddy Waters said that. A man of color. A Nigga. The inventor of rock and roll. I am a nigga. I am a warrior. My light skin compliments my dark eyes and hair. My Nigga genetics make it possible for the sun to cast a shadow off of my muscles. My Nigga genetics make me a natrual fighter. My Nigga genetics make it possible to have you pick me for ANY sport.... Then you find out I am only a poet with no siblings.. Nigga..Nigger
"Jones, you're not black. You can't get mad because we say it"
Thats what triggered this. I am not black. Is that the reason even watching renactments of racist crimes make me tear up. Or the fact that MLK puts me to sleep. I find my self nodding my head and raising my hands as if the speech is not 45 years old. I am a man of color. On who feels pain.
I can't get mad? Honestly, I laugh at it. I stopped letting stupidity piss me off when I became man. So when I smile. I am not laughing with you. I am laughing at you... I know you look at me no different. I know I am just another "Nigger" to you. I know that when I turn my back you mumble it under your breath... Just like you say it behind your brothers back. I know why... You are intimidated. You want my skin. You want my dark meat. You want to be a part of something that worked to get where it is. You want to walk in my shoes. Play soldier in my position. Have sex with my sisters. You want to celebrate Obama. You want to claim/disclaim Micheal Jackson. It is a sad truth that racism has engulfed the minds of a vast majority of today's society. It is also a sad truth that that same majority has faltered to stupidity. It has become a way of life. It is a disease. I can't get mad.. I don't you humor me. You wave that sword. That weapon. You carry it and you use it. You live by it. "When you live by the sword, you die by the sword."
-iJonesy
"Jones, you're not black. You can't get mad because we say it"
Thats what triggered this. I am not black. Is that the reason even watching renactments of racist crimes make me tear up. Or the fact that MLK puts me to sleep. I find my self nodding my head and raising my hands as if the speech is not 45 years old. I am a man of color. On who feels pain.
I can't get mad? Honestly, I laugh at it. I stopped letting stupidity piss me off when I became man. So when I smile. I am not laughing with you. I am laughing at you... I know you look at me no different. I know I am just another "Nigger" to you. I know that when I turn my back you mumble it under your breath... Just like you say it behind your brothers back. I know why... You are intimidated. You want my skin. You want my dark meat. You want to be a part of something that worked to get where it is. You want to walk in my shoes. Play soldier in my position. Have sex with my sisters. You want to celebrate Obama. You want to claim/disclaim Micheal Jackson. It is a sad truth that racism has engulfed the minds of a vast majority of today's society. It is also a sad truth that that same majority has faltered to stupidity. It has become a way of life. It is a disease. I can't get mad.. I don't you humor me. You wave that sword. That weapon. You carry it and you use it. You live by it. "When you live by the sword, you die by the sword."
-iJonesy
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Take This Body it is Yours
I feel the urgency to purge. So shut up, stop thinkin', sit back, and read.
I am Dennis "iJonesy" Jones. I am a creator. I am created. I am a talented male of color. These eyes have saw more struggle then they reveal. These eyes are the epitome of deep brown. These eyes will let you in or leave you knocking.
These lips have forced many smiles. Cursed many people. These lips have kissed an angel with the most pretty wings. These lips have comforted and spoken true love. These lips have liberated, and torn down. These lips have spoken lies, and been wet from the tears of sorrow.These lips are contradicting...
These cheeks. These cheeks have been bright red in embarassment. They have been blush after a compliment. The reveal my dimples. They have been sore from laughing, wet from crying, ached for talkin alot. These Cheeks... These cheeks...
These ears have heard the best of news to the loudest of screams. The sweetest music to the loudest explosion. Accidentally recieved the faint breath of a angel. These ears have listened to all of the problems. They have burned and turned red from jealousy.
Theses arms have lifted the impossible while carrying the weight of the world. They have been touched an sent into an immediate chill. They have shaken from Muscle Failure, and bled from mistakes. Squeezed tightly, and held loosley.
Theses Legs have ran thousands of miles, and walked double. They have been sore from the result of no car. They shine even though they are hairy and they keep me light. They dangle from a parachute harness as I leap from a plane, and when I ake contact with the ground they support me still.
These Hands, Oh boy theses hand. My favorite part. My hands are me. Man/Soldier/lover/fighter. These hands are the outlet of my brain. They touch in the sweetest way, and they cause the worst pain. They ache from typing, and go numb when i support my head with them through the night. The make the best music, and throw the straightest of blows. These hands wonder. They search and destroy. They assist but they can force. My brain once put my hands through 12 hours of purging. Not once did they complain. Truth is my brain tapped out first.
"Take my body its yours" Look past the distorted image media and the tainted of society have put on this, and see it for what it is. This body is yours. You can have these ears, the lips, the cheeks. You can have it all. If I say "lets make love" that means I want to absorb all of you as you do I. Nothing less, but alot more.
I write what I write for a reason. If it doesnt make sense to you then you wer not meant to be touched by it. Try another one of my "typings". But if you were then this is you. Simply, react. I can type all day, but you hear me..
iJonesy
I am Dennis "iJonesy" Jones. I am a creator. I am created. I am a talented male of color. These eyes have saw more struggle then they reveal. These eyes are the epitome of deep brown. These eyes will let you in or leave you knocking.
These lips have forced many smiles. Cursed many people. These lips have kissed an angel with the most pretty wings. These lips have comforted and spoken true love. These lips have liberated, and torn down. These lips have spoken lies, and been wet from the tears of sorrow.These lips are contradicting...
These cheeks. These cheeks have been bright red in embarassment. They have been blush after a compliment. The reveal my dimples. They have been sore from laughing, wet from crying, ached for talkin alot. These Cheeks... These cheeks...
These ears have heard the best of news to the loudest of screams. The sweetest music to the loudest explosion. Accidentally recieved the faint breath of a angel. These ears have listened to all of the problems. They have burned and turned red from jealousy.
Theses arms have lifted the impossible while carrying the weight of the world. They have been touched an sent into an immediate chill. They have shaken from Muscle Failure, and bled from mistakes. Squeezed tightly, and held loosley.
Theses Legs have ran thousands of miles, and walked double. They have been sore from the result of no car. They shine even though they are hairy and they keep me light. They dangle from a parachute harness as I leap from a plane, and when I ake contact with the ground they support me still.
These Hands, Oh boy theses hand. My favorite part. My hands are me. Man/Soldier/lover/fighter. These hands are the outlet of my brain. They touch in the sweetest way, and they cause the worst pain. They ache from typing, and go numb when i support my head with them through the night. The make the best music, and throw the straightest of blows. These hands wonder. They search and destroy. They assist but they can force. My brain once put my hands through 12 hours of purging. Not once did they complain. Truth is my brain tapped out first.
"Take my body its yours" Look past the distorted image media and the tainted of society have put on this, and see it for what it is. This body is yours. You can have these ears, the lips, the cheeks. You can have it all. If I say "lets make love" that means I want to absorb all of you as you do I. Nothing less, but alot more.
I write what I write for a reason. If it doesnt make sense to you then you wer not meant to be touched by it. Try another one of my "typings". But if you were then this is you. Simply, react. I can type all day, but you hear me..
iJonesy
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
The Soldier Who Walks With His Head Down
I said to myself. This will be your most thought out yet. For once I said. Fuck the reader. I don’t care how lengthy it is or how many words I type.
I sit here and I am conflicted within myself. That’s the worst by the way. Arguing with the person who knows you best… You. It is May 14, 2009 here as of now I don’t know what I am going to title this. I know I want to reveal. That a once very close friend to me. His birth day was May 13th. I initially opened his Facebook profile to say “You are the luckiest, you got to come out of ya sexy mama’s vagina on this day… Let’s trade.” See Bennett’s mother is extremely beautiful. It was an inside joke with the athletes of Northwest. What I saw floored me that day, 1830 May 13 2009. I saw people wishing him a happy birthday, followed by R.I.P... For the record. That profile is still on my screen. I am not sure of when it happens, but I know how, and it makes me cherish life. A little more.
Why am I conflicted? I feel like I am trying to excuse myself for not knowing. There is no excuse. I am in Iraq, had I kept in touch, said hello. Didn’t wait till his birthday. Or holidays. Maybe I would have known. I know people live and die. But for a friend to die and you not know it. Wow, I can’t help but wonder if he is angry with me for not knowing. Not talking to him as much. But then again. He is Bennett the easiest going person in the world. Seriously…
Before every situation that molds me in my life happens. I have the weirdest feeling. I have millions of thoughts. I actually recorded them this time. I wrote over 6 blogs and A 12 chapter book in 2 days. I thought it was my way of purging. I thought finally, without writers block. My brain was bleeding. I let it. 20 years of suppressed emotion came out. After the massive headache, and the dead sleep. I felt so relieved I smiled all of May 12 2009. I had purged. And I had shared my story…
I felt like a horrible friend when I found this out. It took some of my friends from my past reminding me of good times. Fun times. How innocent youth was, and how taken for granted it was, but we did it and enjoyed it. How we were so silly, and mostly how Bennett and I were not the only people to fall out of touch… Touché friends… Touché
My career, as of now it keeps me out of touch. I was here when Bennett died. This is ultimately my 1st excuse in my book. I don’t have much to say in this paragraph. It’s my career. I enjoy it, but even the people who have their dream job. I.E. rappers, pro athletes. Even they have days when they hate their job. This is mine.
Nija told me in a comment on FB. I always had a way with words. Christian absorbs her in everything I write. Natalie said I have the gift of expression. My mother says I like MLK so much because like him I can move people. I can sway people. An ex called me manipulative in a good way. I didn’t know there was a thing. A fight instructor told me I should be a lawyer because I can destroy people with words. Anne Jones told me I was destined to be a man of god I used perfect analogies, and was born “bible based”. Leaders tell me I am a good leader, and I don’t even try to be. Friends say I liberate them. Natalie said I changed her. Christian, loves me.
I feel as if I have said enough. One day my stat read on facebook. If u looks down when you walk you are conceited. Someone asked me why I always looked down when I walked. I do. I look at my shadow though. So I was called conceited. But On May 14, 2009 I didn’t. I got out of my bed, and I needed air. I grabbed my hat and eye protection and I got up and walked. The stale, dusty air of Iraq was fresh that night. I looked down as I walked. My hands were in my pocket, I had taken off my hat and shoved it in my pocket. Nothing but glasses on. “And no shit there I was” in the middle of Iraq with no weapon. I was a walking target for UCMJ. Uniform Code of Military Justice. As I walked. A soldier I joke with all the time came behind me. He said “ I could have taken your life” I saw him waayyy before he walked beside me. But took my life. That drew tears. TAKE my life. My life ends. Bennett’s life ended. On earth anyway. It ended before May 13 2009. That was the day he seized to exist on this planet to me. That’s the day Bennett died. That’s the day I walked with my head down, hmph, but I wasn’t looking at my shadow.
I sit here and I am conflicted within myself. That’s the worst by the way. Arguing with the person who knows you best… You. It is May 14, 2009 here as of now I don’t know what I am going to title this. I know I want to reveal. That a once very close friend to me. His birth day was May 13th. I initially opened his Facebook profile to say “You are the luckiest, you got to come out of ya sexy mama’s vagina on this day… Let’s trade.” See Bennett’s mother is extremely beautiful. It was an inside joke with the athletes of Northwest. What I saw floored me that day, 1830 May 13 2009. I saw people wishing him a happy birthday, followed by R.I.P... For the record. That profile is still on my screen. I am not sure of when it happens, but I know how, and it makes me cherish life. A little more.
Why am I conflicted? I feel like I am trying to excuse myself for not knowing. There is no excuse. I am in Iraq, had I kept in touch, said hello. Didn’t wait till his birthday. Or holidays. Maybe I would have known. I know people live and die. But for a friend to die and you not know it. Wow, I can’t help but wonder if he is angry with me for not knowing. Not talking to him as much. But then again. He is Bennett the easiest going person in the world. Seriously…
Before every situation that molds me in my life happens. I have the weirdest feeling. I have millions of thoughts. I actually recorded them this time. I wrote over 6 blogs and A 12 chapter book in 2 days. I thought it was my way of purging. I thought finally, without writers block. My brain was bleeding. I let it. 20 years of suppressed emotion came out. After the massive headache, and the dead sleep. I felt so relieved I smiled all of May 12 2009. I had purged. And I had shared my story…
I felt like a horrible friend when I found this out. It took some of my friends from my past reminding me of good times. Fun times. How innocent youth was, and how taken for granted it was, but we did it and enjoyed it. How we were so silly, and mostly how Bennett and I were not the only people to fall out of touch… Touché friends… Touché
My career, as of now it keeps me out of touch. I was here when Bennett died. This is ultimately my 1st excuse in my book. I don’t have much to say in this paragraph. It’s my career. I enjoy it, but even the people who have their dream job. I.E. rappers, pro athletes. Even they have days when they hate their job. This is mine.
Nija told me in a comment on FB. I always had a way with words. Christian absorbs her in everything I write. Natalie said I have the gift of expression. My mother says I like MLK so much because like him I can move people. I can sway people. An ex called me manipulative in a good way. I didn’t know there was a thing. A fight instructor told me I should be a lawyer because I can destroy people with words. Anne Jones told me I was destined to be a man of god I used perfect analogies, and was born “bible based”. Leaders tell me I am a good leader, and I don’t even try to be. Friends say I liberate them. Natalie said I changed her. Christian, loves me.
I feel as if I have said enough. One day my stat read on facebook. If u looks down when you walk you are conceited. Someone asked me why I always looked down when I walked. I do. I look at my shadow though. So I was called conceited. But On May 14, 2009 I didn’t. I got out of my bed, and I needed air. I grabbed my hat and eye protection and I got up and walked. The stale, dusty air of Iraq was fresh that night. I looked down as I walked. My hands were in my pocket, I had taken off my hat and shoved it in my pocket. Nothing but glasses on. “And no shit there I was” in the middle of Iraq with no weapon. I was a walking target for UCMJ. Uniform Code of Military Justice. As I walked. A soldier I joke with all the time came behind me. He said “ I could have taken your life” I saw him waayyy before he walked beside me. But took my life. That drew tears. TAKE my life. My life ends. Bennett’s life ended. On earth anyway. It ended before May 13 2009. That was the day he seized to exist on this planet to me. That’s the day Bennett died. That’s the day I walked with my head down, hmph, but I wasn’t looking at my shadow.
Emotional Rape. (Good Addiction)
Ready. Ready is so meaningful in this situation. I am a believer of good addictions. Right addictions. Being addicted to work is good. Being addicted to the word is good. Being addicted to love… The right love... I don’t know if you were able to tell the difference in the addictions. The one she had for her oppressor and the one she had for that mystery guy.
Back to ready. He, that rock He was ready. She… in his eyes she was skeptical. He showed her. There is better, and that she was settling, but he did it in a sense to where it would take her forever to realize it. She was freed from her oppressor, and he was still ready. Still strong. Still solid. Fear has never been an option to him. Never had the time for it. But this scared him. Happiness presented itself, but behind every good time. There is a bad. The bad is what he was not prepared for.
But he was addicted… That “I gotta make you smile.” You have to be happy, addiction. That never too late, addiction. That sweat in your sleep addiction. The one where you find yourself thinking addiction. You think about it all the time, addiction. You begin to wonder about her sex moan addiction. Being engulfed in her love, addiction. Swimming in her river, if I may. Owning, sharing.
He dreamed about her on the regular. He imagined life with her. What the kids would look like… She was damaged, but she didn’t know he was too… She loved him. She couldn’t admit it. She found herself openly expressing emotion towards him. Using the word please. Her walls were penetrated. He is an extremist though. He wanted to take and conquer in a sense. Not hold hostage. I guess He wanted it to be the irreversible Stockholm Syndrome. A hole wasn’t enough. He wanted that house. He saw that house over and over again, but only from the outside. So peeking through that hole he decided he wanted. He had to have it. He wanted those walls down. That place was so beautiful. He wanted to expose it to the world so that now every soul that passed it by could see. See what that passed by or took for granted.
He was addicted. That beginners addicted. Had to have it. That pull her hair and bite her neck addiction. That… touch. That lingering smell. That look. That exhale. That daydream. That type well over 900 words. That blabber. That… Addiction……
Back to ready. He, that rock He was ready. She… in his eyes she was skeptical. He showed her. There is better, and that she was settling, but he did it in a sense to where it would take her forever to realize it. She was freed from her oppressor, and he was still ready. Still strong. Still solid. Fear has never been an option to him. Never had the time for it. But this scared him. Happiness presented itself, but behind every good time. There is a bad. The bad is what he was not prepared for.
But he was addicted… That “I gotta make you smile.” You have to be happy, addiction. That never too late, addiction. That sweat in your sleep addiction. The one where you find yourself thinking addiction. You think about it all the time, addiction. You begin to wonder about her sex moan addiction. Being engulfed in her love, addiction. Swimming in her river, if I may. Owning, sharing.
He dreamed about her on the regular. He imagined life with her. What the kids would look like… She was damaged, but she didn’t know he was too… She loved him. She couldn’t admit it. She found herself openly expressing emotion towards him. Using the word please. Her walls were penetrated. He is an extremist though. He wanted to take and conquer in a sense. Not hold hostage. I guess He wanted it to be the irreversible Stockholm Syndrome. A hole wasn’t enough. He wanted that house. He saw that house over and over again, but only from the outside. So peeking through that hole he decided he wanted. He had to have it. He wanted those walls down. That place was so beautiful. He wanted to expose it to the world so that now every soul that passed it by could see. See what that passed by or took for granted.
He was addicted. That beginners addicted. Had to have it. That pull her hair and bite her neck addiction. That… touch. That lingering smell. That look. That exhale. That daydream. That type well over 900 words. That blabber. That… Addiction……
Emotional Rape. (Good Addiction)
Ready. Ready is so meaningful in this situation. I am a believer of good addictions. Right addictions. Being addicted to work is good. Being addicted to the word is good. Being addicted to love… The right love... I don’t know if you were able to tell the difference in the addictions. The one she had for her oppressor and the one she had for that mystery guy.
Back to ready. He, that rock He was ready. She… in his eyes she was skeptical. He showed her. There is better, and that she was settling, but he did it in a sense to where it would take her forever to realize it. She was freed from her oppressor, and he was still ready. Still strong. Still solid. Fear has never been an option to him. Never had the time for it. But this scared him. Happiness presented itself, but behind every good time. There is a bad. The bad is what he was not prepared for.
But he was addicted… That “I gotta make you smile.” You have to be happy, addiction. That never too late, addiction. That sweat in your sleep addiction. The one where you find yourself thinking addiction. You think about it all the time, addiction. You begin to wonder about her sex moan addiction. Being engulfed in her love, addiction. Swimming in her river, if I may. Owning, sharing.
He dreamed about her on the regular. He imagined life with her. What the kids would look like… She was damaged, but she didn’t know he was too… She loved him. She couldn’t admit it. She found herself openly expressing emotion towards him. Using the word please. Her walls were penetrated. He is an extremist though. He wanted to take and conquer in a sense. Not hold hostage. I guess He wanted it to be the irreversible Stockholm Syndrome. A hole wasn’t enough. He wanted that house. He saw that house over and over again, but only from the outside. So peeking through that hole he decided he wanted. He had to have it. He wanted those walls down. That place was so beautiful. He wanted to expose it to the world so that now every soul that passed it by could see. See what that passed by or took for granted.
He was addicted. That beginners addicted. Had to have it. That pull her hair and bite her neck addiction. That… touch. That lingering smell. That look. That exhale. That daydream. That type well over 900 words. That blabber. That… Addiction……
Back to ready. He, that rock He was ready. She… in his eyes she was skeptical. He showed her. There is better, and that she was settling, but he did it in a sense to where it would take her forever to realize it. She was freed from her oppressor, and he was still ready. Still strong. Still solid. Fear has never been an option to him. Never had the time for it. But this scared him. Happiness presented itself, but behind every good time. There is a bad. The bad is what he was not prepared for.
But he was addicted… That “I gotta make you smile.” You have to be happy, addiction. That never too late, addiction. That sweat in your sleep addiction. The one where you find yourself thinking addiction. You think about it all the time, addiction. You begin to wonder about her sex moan addiction. Being engulfed in her love, addiction. Swimming in her river, if I may. Owning, sharing.
He dreamed about her on the regular. He imagined life with her. What the kids would look like… She was damaged, but she didn’t know he was too… She loved him. She couldn’t admit it. She found herself openly expressing emotion towards him. Using the word please. Her walls were penetrated. He is an extremist though. He wanted to take and conquer in a sense. Not hold hostage. I guess He wanted it to be the irreversible Stockholm Syndrome. A hole wasn’t enough. He wanted that house. He saw that house over and over again, but only from the outside. So peeking through that hole he decided he wanted. He had to have it. He wanted those walls down. That place was so beautiful. He wanted to expose it to the world so that now every soul that passed it by could see. See what that passed by or took for granted.
He was addicted. That beginners addicted. Had to have it. That pull her hair and bite her neck addiction. That… touch. That lingering smell. That look. That exhale. That daydream. That type well over 900 words. That blabber. That… Addiction……
Monday, May 11, 2009
Borne By the River (My 1st Time)
I hurt myself. today. To see if I still fell. I focused on the pain. The only thing thats real.. What have I become?
Breifly after the struggle. After mama made son proud. Son wanted to fly. Be his own bird. Become a man. A man.. I like that. Son still had to make mama proud. Even though mama had become the epitome of "Rags to Riches" in a sense. Son had a promise. To take care of mom.
Military is what I always preached, and now I decided I want to do it. Its time to prove everyone wrong who doubted me.
So I go on to complete my training. I was addicted to this chick. Strange addiction. She had a certain something about her. Her personality was almost as addictive as mine. I look back now, and she wasnt even that pretty. But, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. We decided we were meant for each other. Little did I know this is where the pain began. To rewind a little. If you steal a toy it is never truly yours. If you win the lotto its not long before that same money is up for grabs again.. I should have known. My training seemed to offer me a chance to purge myself of her. But that addiction. A simple "Hi" or a hint of her perfume.. The way she always smelled like brown sugar and vanilla. And even now it makes me think of her flawless, shiny skin...
I got a letter from her saying she loved me. I was in love. All my hard work wasted. Walls penetrated. I knew it was a bad Idea. But i decided to hurt myself. All or nothing? I opened up. Communicated back and forward. No one was there to warn me. I watched a woman go in and out of relationships, being faithful . I never saw the role of a doggish woman or a good man. Just what she had been through. I knew we were destined for failure after she didnt come to my graduation. It was all inclusive.. The only excuse she could give was "I have to study".. I was making improvements in my life, and i wanted to be what she needed.. I began to once again purge myself. So that day when she told me " I don't want to be with you anymore" in a angry voice, and we set on the phone. All i could do was hang up and close this chapter of my life.
That was the first time. That first high. That first cut. It's not always the deepest. But it stung a bit. I went on allowing her. In and out of my life. But my walls were built so high. She even offered what i wanted. She said "We can get married and have kids" but i rejected. There is no pain greater than one that you can not cure. I will probably have these scars forever but I don't care about that right now..
Breifly after the struggle. After mama made son proud. Son wanted to fly. Be his own bird. Become a man. A man.. I like that. Son still had to make mama proud. Even though mama had become the epitome of "Rags to Riches" in a sense. Son had a promise. To take care of mom.
Military is what I always preached, and now I decided I want to do it. Its time to prove everyone wrong who doubted me.
So I go on to complete my training. I was addicted to this chick. Strange addiction. She had a certain something about her. Her personality was almost as addictive as mine. I look back now, and she wasnt even that pretty. But, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. We decided we were meant for each other. Little did I know this is where the pain began. To rewind a little. If you steal a toy it is never truly yours. If you win the lotto its not long before that same money is up for grabs again.. I should have known. My training seemed to offer me a chance to purge myself of her. But that addiction. A simple "Hi" or a hint of her perfume.. The way she always smelled like brown sugar and vanilla. And even now it makes me think of her flawless, shiny skin...
I got a letter from her saying she loved me. I was in love. All my hard work wasted. Walls penetrated. I knew it was a bad Idea. But i decided to hurt myself. All or nothing? I opened up. Communicated back and forward. No one was there to warn me. I watched a woman go in and out of relationships, being faithful . I never saw the role of a doggish woman or a good man. Just what she had been through. I knew we were destined for failure after she didnt come to my graduation. It was all inclusive.. The only excuse she could give was "I have to study".. I was making improvements in my life, and i wanted to be what she needed.. I began to once again purge myself. So that day when she told me " I don't want to be with you anymore" in a angry voice, and we set on the phone. All i could do was hang up and close this chapter of my life.
That was the first time. That first high. That first cut. It's not always the deepest. But it stung a bit. I went on allowing her. In and out of my life. But my walls were built so high. She even offered what i wanted. She said "We can get married and have kids" but i rejected. There is no pain greater than one that you can not cure. I will probably have these scars forever but I don't care about that right now..
Emotional Rape!
Oh that feeling. The feeling of addiction.. No matter how bad it is for you. You cant stay away. You can't quit. It hurts.. so good.
She stands talls flawless skin. Even her impersections are perfect. The smile touched by god, and her body was carved by angels. He wonders "How did I get a woman like this". He is intimidated. He hates, that she is so perfect, but he is obsessed. He is insecure and couldn't fathom her not being there. So he belittles her.. He talks crap. Then he strikes her. He chokes her unconcious.. The rest is black for her at least. She wakes up in a sweat, body in pain. Laying in her back and vision blurred. She cries as she looks at the distorted image of herself in the mirror on the ceiling. Wonderin "How did I end up here" and " What did I do to deserve it.
She tries to force his worthless carcus off top if her, but he wakes up. "You are mine. I own you" At that moment she knew it was now or never. So she agrees. He lets her up. And she escapes. Seizing the opporotunity she runs, and didnt even think to grab her clothes. In the pouring rain barefoot. She calls all she knows. Her rock, That one who has been there. The one who has treated her like roayalty. And no matter how many careless decisions she makes. He never judges. The opressor finds her sweet talks her, and tears her down some more. But she is addicted. You kno. that cant sleep at night.. Shake in your sleep kind of addiction. That wake up thinkin about you kind of addiction.
She wants it now more than ever. So does he.....
iJonesy on The Dream Woman..
This chick.. Just runs into my life one day. Decided she was gonna stay there. She sank her claws in, and scratched away. Molded certain aspects of my emotion and sense of humor to match hers. She tells me.."Hey I am like a bad rash u cant get rid of me". Knows how to be exactly what i need at that point in time. She decided she wanted to stick around. She made a decision that no matter what she would be there. She writes suicidal love stories and smile about it. Gets off to talkin trash to other people. Not that scared of my driving... lol.. She decided she would stay, and when I decided to hold on to my ways a little more tight. She simply embraces with me. Until I am tired ant I let go. She is patient. She does all I dont do, or like doing. Drives the speed limit, talks nicely to people, wait in lines, eat bad food, study, save money. Tattoos are permenant so are iPod engravings, and scars.. She looks past the scar on my stomach, and doesnt question. She is a softer side of me. She cries while watching movies, and horror flicks scare her. She is like Happiness in the human form. Happiness is all I need. Look for it u will never find it. But be the liver of your life and lead it. It will find you...
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Borne By the River (Motivation)
Sam Cooke said he was born by the river.. Well I was born in a hurry, because my mother had to be back at work. The sleepless nights of yells and high pitched screams.. The fast money life style. I once cursed the vagina that gave birth to me. I am the only child. Relationships changed her mood. I caught the back blast.. Truth is I faulted my maker for the struggle. I blamed my ADHD diagnosis on her, bad grades, trouble. Anything negative in my life. It was all her fault. In a heated arguement I swore like a slave in the South Carolina heat. I disrespected the woman that could have made me a simple 300 dollar fix..
I was young, and immature. I didn't realize. I was lucky to only get back blast from the struggle. I only recieved shrapnel wound compared to her gunshots. I didn't realize how much I was being sheltered from it all. A few hungry nights, compared to her countless. I would tell her. " Mother, we can just leave. Just me and you." She would respond "How?" I didnt realize she was a woman who left everything to gain nothing. She didnt get what she signed up for. I used to say "I will take care of us" i was 8. But, she couldn't. I resented her for no reason. Situations always look easier from the outside.
As I grew older. I realized that if i didn't want to become another statistic.. Fated to live in that hell day after day.. I had to make changes,. I had to stop blaming my mother. Some people have the gift of imagination. They can motivate themselves. I can use situations around me. Positive or negative and motivate myself. Others tend to need to see change, and see "it" work before they are. So I decided. I am going to better myself. So I did that. I foucused and I showed my mother change, and without knowing. Made her proud. I liberated her. A strong woman, birthed a strong man. A man who was forced to be a man before his time.. But did it happily.. And with a smile on his face.
Complete deviation... If any river I was born by.. Was that river of tears my mother cried. After I made my improvement. She left drama, but with leaving that drama.. Meant being completley alone. My mother made countless beds. Worked irregular hours,a nd she felt as if she wasn't doing enough for me. She felt i deserved much more. But of feelings were mutual. I felt the same. I am not doing enough. Why settle for A B average, When I can do better. Why waste this paper my mother worked her ass of for. For a b average?
It was a viscious cycle. With my constant need for improvement and at the same time separating myself from mediocracy. My mothers constant need to support this gift she can call her son. Things got better. Froom making beds to a clerk @ PMG a company that owns Chevrons.. the gas station. She has a degree in finances, too her a long time to use it. But she did. Now she is supporting her son, truly independent.
You have to truly endure hard times, you have to embrace them and let them take their tolls on you. You have to face times of darkness head on in order to enjoy and boast about your victory. I heard Martin Luther King Jr. in a speech for the 1st time wen I was in middle school. Tears came out of anywhere. Watching those marches, and seeing the abuse.. But this man, Was peaceful. He had an objective. That day MLK said to me.. "It is always darkest right before the lights come on" They were having a meeting in a church and peoples cars were being set on fire. Gunshots, but his words soothed all.
Complete deviation again. My mother says I am her hero. She is mine. I feel as if I will never be able to do anything to repay her. So until my dying day. I will work my ass off to show my mother she did a good job...
I was young, and immature. I didn't realize. I was lucky to only get back blast from the struggle. I only recieved shrapnel wound compared to her gunshots. I didn't realize how much I was being sheltered from it all. A few hungry nights, compared to her countless. I would tell her. " Mother, we can just leave. Just me and you." She would respond "How?" I didnt realize she was a woman who left everything to gain nothing. She didnt get what she signed up for. I used to say "I will take care of us" i was 8. But, she couldn't. I resented her for no reason. Situations always look easier from the outside.
As I grew older. I realized that if i didn't want to become another statistic.. Fated to live in that hell day after day.. I had to make changes,. I had to stop blaming my mother. Some people have the gift of imagination. They can motivate themselves. I can use situations around me. Positive or negative and motivate myself. Others tend to need to see change, and see "it" work before they are. So I decided. I am going to better myself. So I did that. I foucused and I showed my mother change, and without knowing. Made her proud. I liberated her. A strong woman, birthed a strong man. A man who was forced to be a man before his time.. But did it happily.. And with a smile on his face.
Complete deviation... If any river I was born by.. Was that river of tears my mother cried. After I made my improvement. She left drama, but with leaving that drama.. Meant being completley alone. My mother made countless beds. Worked irregular hours,a nd she felt as if she wasn't doing enough for me. She felt i deserved much more. But of feelings were mutual. I felt the same. I am not doing enough. Why settle for A B average, When I can do better. Why waste this paper my mother worked her ass of for. For a b average?
It was a viscious cycle. With my constant need for improvement and at the same time separating myself from mediocracy. My mothers constant need to support this gift she can call her son. Things got better. Froom making beds to a clerk @ PMG a company that owns Chevrons.. the gas station. She has a degree in finances, too her a long time to use it. But she did. Now she is supporting her son, truly independent.
You have to truly endure hard times, you have to embrace them and let them take their tolls on you. You have to face times of darkness head on in order to enjoy and boast about your victory. I heard Martin Luther King Jr. in a speech for the 1st time wen I was in middle school. Tears came out of anywhere. Watching those marches, and seeing the abuse.. But this man, Was peaceful. He had an objective. That day MLK said to me.. "It is always darkest right before the lights come on" They were having a meeting in a church and peoples cars were being set on fire. Gunshots, but his words soothed all.
Complete deviation again. My mother says I am her hero. She is mine. I feel as if I will never be able to do anything to repay her. So until my dying day. I will work my ass off to show my mother she did a good job...
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
The Struggle
The smallest things inspire. Not "inspire" me, but ligth a fuse that stars at my brain and explodes at my finger tips. Talking to a friend she said
" Its weird I wasnt who I am today , and he sort of reminds me of where I came from"
In this I will probably not discuss anything vital in this, nor make any vital point. But the idea of "The Struggle" has been sort of foiling my brain. Every one has a story some greater than others, but who are we to place worth on anyones past. I can say. The struggle makes or breaks you. Mine made me. Not to discuss my past but working FOR the government would not have been predicted if you saw 15 year old me. What do I mean when I say when I say "Make or break". The subject of the man of color being opressed by the "White Man" is really touchy. I am a man of color who has witnessed the same things alot have. Statistics say I am on drugs, sale drigs, in prison, on the way to prison, 3 kids by different women, or ultimatley dead. Add that with how I was raised. Your media says I am a miricale. I can stop working right now. Just stop caring. Lose my job, and go use the excuse "I was raised around it. It's all I know".... I can easily surcum to my past and let it ruin my future. I can blame someone else for my problems. The problem is you have to try, you have to fall, but you have to get right back up. In MMA u never let your guards down. Ultimatley you never quit. I will close with saying this. Whose fault is it really. Ourselves, Media, or the infamous opressor the "White Man". Let me help u. The media records Statistics. The white man doesnt live our life, but they do thrive off of media the same way most of the world.. It you ourselves who destroy us. We give the media their stats every time we take the easy way. When we kill one another.. You know the role. When we walk down the street pants saggin, and hats tilted, and a woman who just so happens to be white grips her purse tighter. Hell, I ride through my old "hood" where I was raised with my doors locked. I never get cornered in a old friends who fell victim to his past and is a statistic. I am never cornered in his house. My gun (which is liscensed and permitted) is sittin on my seat when I ride past a group of "thugs". All of this and I am a male of color. You cannot demand respect without giving it. Thats like robbing a bank with no weapon. Its gets you one of two places. I am pretty sure all of your mothers/ grandmothers said it.... Jail or in Hell.. Wake up... Excuses are tools used by the incompetent that builds monuments of nothingness, those who use them seldom amount to or accomplish anything...
" Its weird I wasnt who I am today , and he sort of reminds me of where I came from"
In this I will probably not discuss anything vital in this, nor make any vital point. But the idea of "The Struggle" has been sort of foiling my brain. Every one has a story some greater than others, but who are we to place worth on anyones past. I can say. The struggle makes or breaks you. Mine made me. Not to discuss my past but working FOR the government would not have been predicted if you saw 15 year old me. What do I mean when I say when I say "Make or break". The subject of the man of color being opressed by the "White Man" is really touchy. I am a man of color who has witnessed the same things alot have. Statistics say I am on drugs, sale drigs, in prison, on the way to prison, 3 kids by different women, or ultimatley dead. Add that with how I was raised. Your media says I am a miricale. I can stop working right now. Just stop caring. Lose my job, and go use the excuse "I was raised around it. It's all I know".... I can easily surcum to my past and let it ruin my future. I can blame someone else for my problems. The problem is you have to try, you have to fall, but you have to get right back up. In MMA u never let your guards down. Ultimatley you never quit. I will close with saying this. Whose fault is it really. Ourselves, Media, or the infamous opressor the "White Man". Let me help u. The media records Statistics. The white man doesnt live our life, but they do thrive off of media the same way most of the world.. It you ourselves who destroy us. We give the media their stats every time we take the easy way. When we kill one another.. You know the role. When we walk down the street pants saggin, and hats tilted, and a woman who just so happens to be white grips her purse tighter. Hell, I ride through my old "hood" where I was raised with my doors locked. I never get cornered in a old friends who fell victim to his past and is a statistic. I am never cornered in his house. My gun (which is liscensed and permitted) is sittin on my seat when I ride past a group of "thugs". All of this and I am a male of color. You cannot demand respect without giving it. Thats like robbing a bank with no weapon. Its gets you one of two places. I am pretty sure all of your mothers/ grandmothers said it.... Jail or in Hell.. Wake up... Excuses are tools used by the incompetent that builds monuments of nothingness, those who use them seldom amount to or accomplish anything...
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Oppressed or Stupid
"There will never be peace because white folk don't want peace.
And no matter how bad I want something for someone, if they
don't want if for themselves, there's nothing I can do.
Harriet Tubman killed alot of slaves. The Africans didn't have to
be killed. I'm an African. I work for Africans.The slaves will be
killed. So will the enemies. Its not my fault"
The person who made this statement shall remain namless, but quotes as such are infuriating almost. Not to undermind the countless years when people were opressed. But damn let it go. Don't forget but forgive. This brother is completley misguided. You are not oppressed. I am a male of 3 different nationalities. I black and white happen to be 2. Am I any less of a man of color. My previous boss was a white man. I serve along side of mostly white men. Ones that I would give my life for daily. Who are you to say "Harriet Tubman killed alot of slaves". That is a phrase definitley media worthy. Because you magnify negatives. How do you know your family wasn't a family she saved? You work for a black man. That feels like a blade going through my heart. I fall asleep every night listening to MLK speeches the same one almost. its called Victourious and the time was when the Boycotts were successful. He said "There is nothing more dangerous than sincere stupidity." I quote, and it is truthful. He gave his life so you can work with a white man. thousands were murdered, beat, sprayed with water hoses, and attcked by dogs.. BY COPS. Brother, you are blinded, and a danger. Not to society, but yourself. You sit here, and maybe you are successful. But you undermind all that was lost so you can gain. You insult our ancestors who fought so you didnt have to. You dont have to blend. Thanks to them. The opressed man of color thing is played. You have a black president.. Oh wait his degree, and job don't make him black enough. Him being half white taints his blood. It is old and overrated. There is peace. The only reason there is not peace is for 2 reasons. 1. No matter how hard we try, and no matter how many people die the world will never be rid of irrational people. 2. I am here in a combat zone, risking my life even now as I sit and type this. 24/7. You have no reason to be angry at any other race. This land thrives off of equal opporotinity, but like i said u have irrationals. In closing, you are not African. You were not born in Africa. You are American. The Ugandans here in support of the United States risking their lives daily they are African..The slaves that Harriet Tubman Killed.. They were African. The Americans who fought tooth and nail so you can live your life the way you do... Even they called themselves "American". Seems you like the world Segragated. Which makes you a irrational social outcast, in a time-machine that I as your brother,or any of the other "black, strong, rational thinking" race will get in..
And no matter how bad I want something for someone, if they
don't want if for themselves, there's nothing I can do.
Harriet Tubman killed alot of slaves. The Africans didn't have to
be killed. I'm an African. I work for Africans.The slaves will be
killed. So will the enemies. Its not my fault"
The person who made this statement shall remain namless, but quotes as such are infuriating almost. Not to undermind the countless years when people were opressed. But damn let it go. Don't forget but forgive. This brother is completley misguided. You are not oppressed. I am a male of 3 different nationalities. I black and white happen to be 2. Am I any less of a man of color. My previous boss was a white man. I serve along side of mostly white men. Ones that I would give my life for daily. Who are you to say "Harriet Tubman killed alot of slaves". That is a phrase definitley media worthy. Because you magnify negatives. How do you know your family wasn't a family she saved? You work for a black man. That feels like a blade going through my heart. I fall asleep every night listening to MLK speeches the same one almost. its called Victourious and the time was when the Boycotts were successful. He said "There is nothing more dangerous than sincere stupidity." I quote, and it is truthful. He gave his life so you can work with a white man. thousands were murdered, beat, sprayed with water hoses, and attcked by dogs.. BY COPS. Brother, you are blinded, and a danger. Not to society, but yourself. You sit here, and maybe you are successful. But you undermind all that was lost so you can gain. You insult our ancestors who fought so you didnt have to. You dont have to blend. Thanks to them. The opressed man of color thing is played. You have a black president.. Oh wait his degree, and job don't make him black enough. Him being half white taints his blood. It is old and overrated. There is peace. The only reason there is not peace is for 2 reasons. 1. No matter how hard we try, and no matter how many people die the world will never be rid of irrational people. 2. I am here in a combat zone, risking my life even now as I sit and type this. 24/7. You have no reason to be angry at any other race. This land thrives off of equal opporotinity, but like i said u have irrationals. In closing, you are not African. You were not born in Africa. You are American. The Ugandans here in support of the United States risking their lives daily they are African..The slaves that Harriet Tubman Killed.. They were African. The Americans who fought tooth and nail so you can live your life the way you do... Even they called themselves "American". Seems you like the world Segragated. Which makes you a irrational social outcast, in a time-machine that I as your brother,or any of the other "black, strong, rational thinking" race will get in..
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