poem

I’m Never Sure What to Tell You, a poem

Poems

I’m Never Sure What to Tell You, a poem 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 cavities.

Admire yourself, fawn over your skin, and 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

Original publish year: 2017

(c) Jean M. Hodges

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Easter Dressing, a poem

Poems

Easter Dressing, a poem by 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

Original publish year: 2017

(c) Jean M. Hodges

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

Open Ocean, a poem

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 you’re 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

Original publish year: 2016

(c) Jean M. Hodges

____________________________________________________________________________

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PATREON

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

Being Political, a poem

Poems

Being Political, a poem by Jean M. Hodges

My name is political

Because from the moment we could choose, we’ve been setting our own syllables against checks and balances-

-What will our white neighbors think?-

Of most fun and least ghetto,

As if our own history would seep into our nomenclature and brand us with yet another cross to carry.

My hair is political,

Because it doesn’t match up with the standards of spaghetti strands you fashion on your own head,

But why would clouds match with spaghetti strands,

When they are too busy defying gravity to notice?

My body is political,

Because it used to be bought and sold,

And now that I’m no longer a commodity,

 You’ve been trying to put me to work for free.

My voice is political,

Can’t be too loud or rude or angry,

Because my fury can shake solar systems,

Why you barely know how to keep your own planet under control.

What I make is political,

Because art is deliberate, considerate and universal-

-No wonder you steal from it so much.

My culture is political,

Because it doesn’t fit with yours.

The boxes you try to push us in,

Can’t fit the palaces we’ve built for ourselves.

My life is political

Because

Because

Because

Because

Because, we exist

Because we’ve lost too many to not matter at all

Because we’re here

Because I’m here

Because we’re here and still thriving and not leaving to make room for your hate

My love is political

Because it brings change

Because it divides and makes things grow

And because it terrifies you that we still dare to.

THE END

Original publish year: 2016

(c) Jean M. Hodges

____________________________________________________________________________________________

SUPPORT MY WORK!

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PATREON

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

Self-Medication, a poem

Poems

TW: For drug discussion and imagery

Self-Medication, a poem by Jean M. Hodges

I’m really interested in how people self-medicate

How they survive off of blow-pops and unhappy days

How they survive off pretty lies like the finest bread and wine

How they take in the drug of existence like an addict on a binge

People are interested in how I self-medicate

Feeding off their fears, their years, their silence

As if I can age myself up enough to make no mistakes

As if I can age myself up enough to make myself resilient

I worry about how we self-medicate

We’ve long forgotten the proper dosage

So we experiment with sorrow and resentment, feeling our way through it’s effects

Until we get to love, which is one drug we can all get hooked on

THE END

Original publish year: 2016

(c) Jean M. Hodges

SUPPORT MY WORK!

Like my work? Buy me a drink! 

KOFI

Want me to drop me a tip and a kind hello? Donate to my Paypal!

PAYPAL

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

PATREON

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