For sale

There comes a time in your life when you have to cut all ties from your past. This is my time so I'm selling two women rings both size 7 & 1ct for $2000 each or best offer. If you are interested email me at monyalw38@gmail.com no low balling. They are from Jared's quality rings.

Love, Lust or Lies (romance novel) By Monya Williams

Love lust or lies is a southern urban fiction book of romance with a touch of poetry by Jacksonville's own Monya Williams. See how the entanglement of the hearts want, desires, and needs captivates you reeling you into the pleasures of the mind, body and soul. Feel the passion for one's aspiration to love and be loved, the longing to be touched and the choices that have been made in order for these events to take place. The knowing when to let seasonal things past in order to make way for lifetime embraces. Monya Williams explores the false realities of the misunderstanding of relationships as she personifies the truths about life and love. Taking blinders off our eyes in order for us to see what truly is and not just what we want them to be. Let go and become captured in the journey of love lust or lies as she draws you in as if it were your story being told. Love lust or lies by Monya Williams go out and get your copy you will be glad you did.

www.createspace.com/3636211

Free

You were the dagger in my heart,

spark from not being grounded,

wounded from trusting in the lies told,

behold I know the truth in your lies,

wise enough to know enough is enough,

and to much of enough ain’t no good,

misunderstood my wants for my needs,

greed took over,

 rolled over between someone else’s legs,

in someone’s else’s bed,

fed me false hope,

provoked to seek peace from someone like me,

not my enemy I no longer sleep with thee,

free to be me in my own skin,

so close to me she’s called my next of kin,

pretend no more,

the whore is who you adore,

explore her rejection to you,

your plans fell through,

no more me and you,

throughout the night your bed is cold,

bold I am to shine in your darkness,

confess I'm blessed despite this mess,

righteousness prevails,

bed rails of misery,

fiery darts thrown at you by you,

blue in the face flat lined,

intertwined screwed by Satan’s mistress,

depressed you played and got played,

betrayed by your own ego and pride,

hells ride is full of discomfort, embarrassment, resentment,

content with the outcome I've moved on,

strong and more powerful than ever,

clever enough to show you,

who’s true my back is covered,

my lover,

partner got it under control,

blow your mind your pressure and all,

fall to your knees pray and seek forgiveness,

confess for all the lies,

cries go unheard no feelings felt from your words,

heard no more from your own ears,

tears burn like acid on your face,

displaced in your soul no longer recognized,

despised by your flock,

mocked only to be put to shame,

tame your loins and find peace,

defeat once again as history repeats,

greet a new way of living,

thinking of ways old,

let go in order to become whole,

shalom I wish for you,

through for sure now that this poem  puts you and my past in its proper place,

about face never to look back.

 

                ©2012 Monya Williams

The pickle jar

The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.
As a small boy I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar . They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled.
I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window. When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank.
Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production. Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.
Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully. 'Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son. You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back.'
Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly 'These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me.'
We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm. 'When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again.' He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other. 'You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters,' he said. 'But you'll get there. I'll see to that'
The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed.
A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words, and never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done. When I married, I told my wife Susan about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me..
No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar.
To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make a way out for me. 'When you finish college, Son,' he told me, his eyes glistening, 'You'll never have to eat beans again - unless you want to.'
The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms. 'She probably needs to be changed,' she said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes.
She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room. 'Look,' she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak.
This truly touched my heart. I know it has yours as well. Sometimes we are so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to count our blessings.
Never underestimate the power of your actions. With one small gesture you can change a person's life, for better or for worse.
God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another in some way. Look for Good in others.
The best and most beautiful things cannot be seen or touched - they must be felt with the heart ~ Helen Keller

- Happy moments, praise God.
- Difficult moments, seek God.
- Quiet moments, worship God.
- Painful moments, trust God. - Every moment, thank God.

Love

Romans 12:9 KJV

Let love be without dissimulation. Abhor that which is evil; cleave to that which is

God is not the author of confusion, often we tend to step out of the will of God because we choose not to be patient and wait on him to move in our lives. We are to love as the bible says so. Too many times we try to force people to love the way we feel they should instead of accepting the only way in which they know how to love. Love is about compromising give and take, not all about self.

Love Lust or Lies

Love lust or lies is a southern urban fiction book of romance by Jacksonville's own Monya Williams. See how the entanglement of the hearts want, desires, and needs captivates you reeling you into the pleasures of the mind, body and soul. Feel the passion for one's aspiration to love and be loved, the longing to be touched and the choices that have been made in order for these events to take place. The knowing when to let seasonal things past in order to make way for lifetime embraces. Monya Williams explores the false realities of the misunderstanding of relationships as she personifies the truths about life and love. Taking blinders off our eyes in order for us to see what truly is and not just what we want them to be. Let go and become captured in the journey of love lust or lies as she draws you in as if it were your story being told. Love lust or lies by Monya Williams go out and get your copy you will be glad you did.

www.createspace.com/3636211

Unnecessary tears

I’ve shed so many unnecessary tears

Walking blinded trusting my peers

Hurts, betrayal, lies, leaves my sheets stained

Back burdened weighed down still I won’t complain

Only if I could have listened with my mind instead of my heart

I am who I am which sets me apart

If I only had the gene to not really give a damn

Being Christ like won’t let me brush off man

Seeking good in everyone that I meet

Staying covered anointing my feet

Giving the benefit of doubt trusting in man

Accepting your word on which you stand

Allowing you to stab me in the back, slap my other cheek

Shedding more tears as I continue to repeat

Having your back leaving mine wide open

Cut my air supply gasping choking

 

Unnecessary tears

Mind filled with fears

Doubt sets in playing with my mental

Confused not focused emotionally unstable

Doubting who I am second guessing me

Spiritual agony unable to sleep

Tossing turning, turning tossing

Dazed dismayed constant whirlwind

My friend yet my enemy, my enemy yet my friend

Double-minded acquaintances as well as companions

Still I won’t listen have to see for my self

Contaminating my mental and physical health

Often taken for granted presumed to be naive

Gullible, simple, is what some think of me

Trusting in people causing turmoil and strife

Planting toxic seed in the dirt of my life

 

Unwise decisions I’ve often made

Head hanging in shame most of my latter days

Foolish thinking and actions just the same

It’s hard for me to change my credulous ways

Blinded by works of those who are mischievous

Unsuspecting of one who is perceived to be malicious

Believing in people makes me an easy target

Readiness to guide with later regrets

Debating if I should trust a constant fear

Tired of shedding unnecessary tears

 

 

©2012 Monya Williams