Jess Creator ~Chef~Artist

~ 11 years ~

This year feels different, a coming of age, a quantum shift. An initiation.

“ The poets work is to feel immensely and not be afraid. They must seek out truth in the darkest corners of the world, and carry it back for all to see.”

I forget that I’m part of earth sometimes, an idle attempt to not feel hunted. Defiant joy it feels like. Begging to be seen, my tongue abandoned me in the memory of my own name.
I will tell my secrets to my self rather than laying them in hollow hands as I step aside from sharing exaggerated limitations with those who neglect to contend with it along side me.

Relief, grief of an identity that feels foreign lingers, a call to return to the origin story, home. Burning words, telling myself a different story. I smell like fire, the kind that settles all the darkness. Hands anointed in soot , proof I’m on my own doorstep.

Questioning if there’s belief in it. Admiration in it. Rejection in it. Love in it. Hope in it. If I stand for it. Care for it.………….trust it.

The universe remembered my name. Found me digging in my own grave, and tales of how it dreamt my death. Asked me to come home and dance to who I am.

I am the silver light of the moon, the fire that swallows the air, the leaves that chance frost over a kiss from the sun, and the warmth in soft soil at midnight in July.

Honest words protect me when I shed my skin, vulnerably exposing my soft belly. The fragments of truth you say hello to yourself in. I have settled the grievance with separateness and have less to say but much more to listen to. ~ ✨🐍~