I have been writing about some of my darker experiences on Steemit, because it really helps to get it out to a community that is listening. If you've read any of those posts, you probably have realized that being a cam girl isn't really who I am. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer.
Last fall, I made a Kickstarter campaign to publish my first book of poetry, and it was ridiculously successful in the end, and the book is published!!! :) Part of it was making this cool video about why poetry matters, because it matters. It really does.
Here is a poem I want to share today because my favorite human was gone for a few days, and last night when he came home, we drank wine and talked and talked until we realized we both had work to do, and he said, I wish I could just sit here talking to you alllllll night. So I am feeling a lot of love <3
It's not in the book that was published (it's newer than that), but it was inspired by the guy in this pic right next to me:
Trashy Love
If I am choosing (I
fall in) I am choosing
madrugada morphism:
the street secrets (love),
alleys keep them
where they keep
rusty knives and black eyes;
madrugada morphology,
sleeping in our shoes
until undressing becomes
a sleepdance,
queen of the soft silence
recordings of sleepbreathing (with you),
the truth can be soft like a pillow
even if it’s sharp, that’s
madrugada orchestra,
and the difference
between (every) philosophy
and this
is we wrap our voices
around each other
like winter bears buried in snow,
we kiss like monsters
passing the energy back and forth
(fucking) first with our tongues,
then our eyes, then our skies,
you say ayy mamí, and it’s found,
madrugada infinite,
we all bleed the same,
the opposite of death too,
always keep a little bit
of darkness around, coins in the gutter
glistening in sewage, (day) light finding
a channel to us through
split mirrors, the times
we’ll smoke cigarettes for breakfast,
and other Sundays lying in the grass
singing to the airplanes that leave
soft disappearing lines.
xo,
Jess