Who is Vonne Monai?
I use my art (music, poetry, etc.) to make lemonade out of the lemons hurled at me throughout my life.
I am a Professional Model and Actress, as Well.
I always thought of writing as taking a negative situation and transforming it into something positive – My art, self expression.
They can’t steal or buy everything and these are the things that interest me most.
Self Esteem is earned and this is why they have never been able to break my spirit.
The looters of this world are zeros and congenital dependents.
They have no love for life or anyone who has standards and values.
These souless, brute beasts are losers no matter what their numbers because a zero multiplied by any number still equals zero!
All works are copywritten.
This is a Poem I wrote while residing with my first cousin Lorraine C. James (raised a Muslim, married John Russell) on Burton St., Hartford, Ct.
Vikki had asked me if I had any ideas where she could live because she was in between apts. I generously suggested she try Lorraine’s because my half sister Val and our buddy Cynthia Ramney (from Aruba) had visited her while we were on winter break (from Port Richmond High, Staten Island, NY) and we had a great time on our visit. Vikki exclaimed that it was a good idea, but when I went there to live she gave me grief beyond compare.
She, Victoria M. Quick-Pope (Georgia) would have me raped, held captive and forced to breed with a Muslim Terrorist who tried to force me to convert to Islam (David Peterson, musician, attended Howard University). The police and other agencies were no help (as I knew they would not be because of the power my relatives wield in the Sex Slave Trade).
Vikki told me she is a practicing witch and attends church.
She is badly influenced by her Irish Catholic friends (Darlene Leach, as well as all of the men of all nationalities (including the staff at ALL of the schools she attended) who are her tricks (clients) and dependent on prostitutes and Sex Slaves -union workers, etc.)
You see, they always need females to help them pull off their crimes against women.
Vikki was raped by our 33rd degree Mason, Great Uncle, Norman Swilley (Masapequa, NY) when she was twelve.
Our cousin Leroy told me she was the first person to give him a blow job when he was seven (he is only a couple of years younger than her).
I guess this is what gives her the right (power) to have me held prisoner in (55 Bowen St., Parkhill, Staten Island, NY) as a Sex Slave to a Mafia Loanshark (Louie Gambardella, Brooklyn, Staten Island, New Jersey).
Vikki is a prostitute and embezzeled $10,000 from Coca Cola where she worked as an administrative assistant. She was given no jail time and supposedly simply had to repay them.
Probrably her Stasi like married, jewish boyfriend got her out of jail time.
I think she is a lying snitch who frames people she is jealous of to the same authorities who gave her such an easy time with her crimes.
I have tried to move forward with my life. With the three children they forced on me and isolated me with absolutely no support system whatsoever.
I was not allowed to have friends or keep a job.
Our mother is responsible for her behavior and warned me of she and Val’s jealousy of me, but I could do nothing to help myself and the three of them targeted me and slandered me to anyone and everyone who would listen.
Vikki had her moved from her apt. to a home shortly after I had messaged her on Facebook inquiring about my biological father.
My two older half sisters have physically and emotionally abused me (encouraged by our mother) ever since I can remember.
They want me to be alone and have nothing just because my biological father is WHITE (Blonde, Blue Eyes)!
Dear Vikki; I Am All But 10-21-78
Yes I’ll have a drink, perhaps some reefer too
I suppose it’s alright ’cause you know that I am new
You make me out to be so dense and I have to leave the room
For you are a whole person and respect is sure to bloom
In your garden that you fertilize with untruths about me
This kind of ugly flower you grow and want all to see
I am all but, what you’ve made me out to be
I am all but, what you demand others to see
I don’t understand what’s at the root of your jealousy
I am all but, what you make me out to be
These are lyrics to a song I composed about my mother (Dorothy Swilley Quick, Florida). I began composing music at age 5 after I received my first guitar as a Christmas gift. She was a prostitute who had me modeling and acting professionally. While on a modeling assignment (Montgomery Ward) I was subjected to participate in child pornography. She stole all of my money and gave it to her pimp uncle Roy I(her fathers brother, Norman’s brother).
She had some sort of a run in with the infamous Carlo Gambino.
She claims to have worked as a NYPD detective, but was most likely a hooker snitch/informant. She says he slapped her with his glove in her face.
Perhaps this is why Vikki could not resist slapping me in my face with her bare hand as often as she could until I chased her with a knife to make her stop.
I grew up seeing my Aunts and their Uncles having Incestuous Orgies on the living room floor at our apt in Harlem, NY or East Hartfdord projects (where her sister Johnnye James lived with her 7 surviving children all Mulims-only 3 are her husbands).
They often laughed about their dead husbands because they had something to do with their mysterious heart attacks, which always came about when these men were trying to divorce them or save their children from these wicked females.
Your State of Mind
My mother is a mental case, you can see it in her face
I honestly deserve a break, it’s really more than I can take
I shake when knocks come at my door, don’t want this shrink trip anymore
Can’t make me drink and be a whore
I know there’s so much more in store
You have to be attuned to it
Can’t be too scared to try and fit
Fit into your state of mind, don’t you have a state of mind?
Left some major things behind
Go back and find them, take the time
To fit into your state of mind
Don’t you have a state of mind?
Left some major things behind
Go back and find them, take the time
Didn’t you think I’d lose my head?
With my Dad alive and thinking he was dead
Only got a gift from Uncle Dear
You hid the truth to keep you clear
You’re not respected and not so sly
With your case of Bud a weekend and cottage cheese thighs
Don’t matter if I finish school, don’t matter if I quit
You’re too involved with all your men to even give a shit
Can’t devise a plan that works, you devil kicking up the dirt
Can’t extinguish all your lies by praying up to the sky