Posted in Art, Business, Commissions, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Poems, Short Stories, Videos

Commission Me!

My work is never for free. While you may show your support in likes, comments, and shares, at the end of the day, I still gotta eat.

Here’s a few ways you can help out with that:

Commissions

Writing Commissions: $0.03/ word or $15/hour depending on complexity per writing piece.  | WRITING EXAMPLES

Art Commissions: $35 per piece (bust, full body, ect) +$5/simple or detailed background  + $5/addition character per drawing. | ART EXAMPLES

Voice Acting or Audio Commissions: $15 for 1-5 minutes / $20 for 5-10 minutes/ $25+ for 10 minutes and up. | AUDIO/VOICE WORK EXAMPLES

NOTE: My turnaround dates for all commissions is 3 days – 2 weeks depending on complexity of the piece. Crediting me for my work comes standard. 

 

 

Please, please, please have your ideas ready when you approach me for a commission! It’ll make things much easier for everyone involved. I RESERVE THE RIGHT TO TURN DOWN ANY COMMISSION W/ CONTENT I DON’T AGREE WITH.

Commissions can be cancelled any time. 50 PERCENT OF THE TOTAL COMMISSION PRICE IS EXPECTED UP FRONT. NON-NEGOTIAEABLE. BARTERS/TRADES ARE ALSO AN ACCEPTABLE FORM OF PAYPMENT

 

Compensation

Paypal | Kofi |Various Wishlists

Either pay or barter is fine with me, but again, I DON’T WORK FOR FREE. If you want to negotiate barter, trades, or rates, please contact me first.

 

Interested?

You may contact me thru : Contact Form | Twitter (DMs) | Email: thepoetjean@gmail.com

 

Thanks again for your time and patience. Let’s make magic together soon, OK?

 

 

 

 

Posted in Fiction, Flash Fiction

Shango, the Witch, & the Wand by Jean M. Hodges

Shango had been snoozing in his car seat in the city junkyard when the witch banged on his window.

“Hey!” they yelled, banging on the glass. “Hey! Hey!  Hobo, hey!”

Shango rolled over in his bed in the back seat, sticking his tongue out at the witch before rolling over on his belly, giving them his ass.

After that, the Witch disappeared from the side of his car, and after a few minutes of silence, Shango almost thought that they’d decided to leave him alone for the night.

Almost. But he knew better.

Grumbling as he pushed himself up from his car seat, Shango stretched before reaching over and opening the car door in front of him, not surprised to see the Witch taking a screwdriver to his tires.

“What is it?” Shango asked, slumping his shoulders in defeat.

The Witch smiled, dropping the screwdriver back into the gigantic pocketbook they always carried with them, standing up to face the sleepy youth in front of them.

“I lost my wand, help me find it.”

Stretching his arms out, Shango phased through through his car door before plopping on the metal-filled ground with a hard, transparent thud, right by the Witch’s bare feet.

“Alright, where do we start?”

*~* They found wand stuck with along with the other garbage in a pile of abandoned baby stuff; toys never played with and shoes never worn.

“We square?” Shango asked the witch, and they grinned, nodding vigorously.

Shango smiled. “Good. And hey! If you need somewhere to sleep during a hurricane, my car’s always open.”

The Witch’s smile faded off their face as they gazed in surprise at the back of the young ghost, watching in silence as Shango floated back to the junkyard pile of the landfill graveyard.

Looking back at them with a mischievous smile, Shango added,

“Just bang.”

THE END

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Like my work? Buy me a drink! 

And if you want to support my work long-term, consider donating to my Patreon !

It keeps me & my work going! Thank you. Spread the magic!

Posted in Poems

I’m Never Sure What to Tell You, by Jean M. Hodges

I’m never sure what to tell you when you talk about sex

I advise caution, I advise consent

I suggest marriage and love and finding yourself first.

But things don’t happen in a straight line,

And armoring you for battle matters more than keeping you in a tower to yourself.

To myself.

 

So, if I don’t know what to tell you, I’ll tell you the truth,

You don’t have to be perfect, I just hope that you’re safe.

A warmth and a tingle between your thighs isn’t Hell you’ll burn yourself with,

And I know that we sometimes regret the food we put on our plate.

But you should always have the choice whether or not to eat,

Always have the choice of when to stop chewing.

I’d rather you have strong teeth

Than to never gather cavaties.

 

Admire yourself, fawn over your skin, love your womanly hips.

But let yourself still be a child, leave room for your own youth.

Not because purity comes from keeping your legs closed,

But because bruises come from trip ups,

Cuz mess-ups make good lessons,

Because whomever you decide to lay with (and does the same with you)

Doesn’t that make you a bad person.

Now, my love, all I know is to tell you the truth,

Do whatever the hell you want, but take care.

There’s monsters out there.

THE END

____________________________________________________________________________________________

Like my work? Buy me a drink! 

And if you want to support my work long-term, consider donating to my Patreon !

It keeps me & my work going! Thank you. Spread the magic!

 

Posted in Poems

Easter Dressing, a poem Jean M. Hodges

The cream was soft and nice and affirming,

Brown arms and storms fingers kneading my through my curls like fresh bread dough.

And I try to stay as still as possible as my mother, auntie or grandma,

Spin my hay-hair to gold.

I go thru the fires of hot-comb purgatory.

Stay still – BRUSH SMACK – HOLD STILL.

You hold your ears!

Wrap up them up like Christmas presents,

Sleep as still as Jesus in his tomb,

Wake up just as glorious.

Treat the second-degree burns with love and cocoa butter.

Hours of toil to get the curls,

Pinned up in a dress your Nana got on sale,

Get so pretty that even,

Even the white girls dare to get jealous.

Your Mama trades look with the pastor,

Hoping you don’t look too grown for the church as y’all find your seat.

THE END

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Like my work? Buy me a drink! 

And if you want to support my work long-term, consider donating to my Patreon !

It keeps me & my work going! Thank you. Spread the magic!

 

Posted in Poems

Open Ocean, a poem by Jean M. Hodges

When you live in the ocean, it’s hard to notice all the salt floating in the water

When your shipped on the ocean, it’s hard to remember when your human when they’re too busy putting us in boxes to notice

But then we got louder, and showed off our colors and had the audacity to be so bright and pretty on a white canvas that we bothered people for with our fluorescence

And now some of us are considering washing out the paint, because it’s making it to put bullseyes on our backs

“Are you ok?” I ask. And my best friend’s text buzzes as soon as we all get the announcement , as if this is the last letter he can send me before they send him off to a concentration camp with a pink triangle branded on his body

“I’m gonna burn a flag today, he said cheerfully, as if discussing morning coffee

“Fuck, ok, man. “ I say. “Well, good luck making bail. If I’m sold out before that, you’re staying there.”

We laugh cuz we’re drowning. We met up cuz school is still there. We hug cuz we keep each other up.

“What the hell do we do now?” My buddy asks, just trying to fill our space with air, just trying to keep his smile bright and his head above water. And I shrug.

“Brownies?” and he laughs becuz we’re both on this island we made together, hoping against hope this pile of dirt will stay afloat

THE END

____________________________________________________________________________________________

Like my work? Buy me a drink! 

And if you want to support my work long-term, consider donating to my Patreon !

It keeps me & my work going! Thank you. Spread the magic!