ABOUT MARCUS “MUNNY MARC” JONES

What does it mean to be modest about a moment?
God asked me that in a dream recently, and even there, we can't lie to God. So in all honesty, after I woke up, I said I don't know, because being modest doesn't seem to mean the same as being humble.
To be humble is to subdue our ego so that things are no longer all about us, whereas to be modest is to protect the ego of others so that they do not feel uncomfortable, or small... Ego has a funny way of expressing himself... I personally think he's bipolar. Yet me and Ego still coexist together like an 80s duo who realizes they can't change the past so they manipulate present moments that'll send the decisions they make back to the future.
I speak as a Poet Laureate now. But unlike times before where one poet wore the crown, now there are multiple. A single head split into three, and even though it took days my modesty was replaced by humbleness because when it comes to poetry we're all dogs. So a three-headed poetic beast holds the seat, not like Cerberus who imprisons the dead for Hades, but like Fluffy from Harry Potter, protecting something that can change lives forever. What we protect is the gift of immortality. Voices that'll live forever through our words, our literature, our art.
Even after we're gone we'll speak from the grave like spirits. Conjuring emotions in the minds of those who will be awed at our audacity, while we were living, to speak even while imprisoned by a system with a grudge who would use every tool at its disposal to silence us. Coming from a quiet place, we chose to make noise anyway, even if it was alien to most…
God don't talk to people like He used to. Epiphanys, awakenings, and visions rarely come in the form of silent whispers in the back of our minds or seeds planted in the depths of our sleep. God usually has to catch this era when their heads are down. Not for prayer but down because eyes focus on screens looking for real in reels. I'm very aware I'm not like most so I hear Him the old fashioned way, in this instance, a dream.
What does it mean to be modest about a moment?
I was asked that for a reason, because at the announcement of the poet laureate position I felt Ego’s toothy smile twitch at the corners, one eye squint and unsquint repeatedly… but then quickly gather his composure as I checked him. A friend once told me ego isn't a bad thing. And I believe that. But sometimes Ego can get besides himself.
I can't be modest, my fellow laureates won't allow it, as wouldn't I from them. But to a degree I can be humble. Because like continents, I know it's bigger than US. If a poet laureate is the voice of a state, then I think three could reach a nation if the messages given in their words were that powerful. It just so happens they are...
Individually, I have a few accomplishments under my belt as a poet but being labeled The 2025-2026 Luis Angel Hernandez Poet Laureate is definitely a peak. Especially with what E4C and O’Miami mean to my development as a writer, performer and poet.
Victory is celebrated in the light, but won in the darkness and it was in the darkness where my pen worked like a light saber and defeated all my insecurities, doubts, and pain. I didn't planet but words created a space in me that elevated my self worth to a position that made me one with the sun. I invite anyone who's ever felt the coldness of despondency to bask in the warmth of my journey and watch this star trek through a system where blackholes outnumber its supernovas.
Albert Einstein once said each of us individually are the center of the universe. We all are important. And with that thought I plan to bring light back into any galaxy around me that has become barren inside. I feel it's my duty. To relight candles like mine was relit, to force those who overlook us to now see eye to eye, and to prove wrong a system which thinks our stories can't be rewritten.
Before the ink dried on the pages of my past I was already writing a new story. This title, this position I now carry, Poet Laureate, is not just mine to carry. I'm the foreman, the face, the representative of my fellow writers, yes, but what I carry also belongs to every person who ever felt unseen, unheard, or forgotten. We’ll write the next story of poetry together. One that heals and inspires, whether incarcerated or not. Never once being modest about the things we write, because healing and inspiring requires an openness that modesty would shackle, and we are done with societal chains.