HeyJaredThe Art of Being
Poetry and essays from my existential uprising. Unravelling on purpose.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 13
- Latest publication
- Sep 24, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Aug 5, 2026
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What Was The Question? (opens the original)
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How do I feel? Right now.I pause and listen with my every layer.A turtle pops his head out of the water.Another turtle. Every layer.I can feel a storm coming.The air is comforting but uncertain.I don’t want to leave yet, so I’ll wait for fire or water to send me.Fire and water haunt me.The clouds move like smoke on a pastel background.Colour in the east at this hour is rare. But there it is.Pink and red.I never sit here.My westward spot was blocked by floods.We needed the rain. Or did we?But how
You had me (opens the original)
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You had meIn the conference room.On the train to London.Against the great pillars of the Library in Athens. Outside the capitol in Montpelier in the winter. Insatiable.Inseparable.You found the key to an endless buffethidden inside my darkest days.Peel back the wrapper.A treat to be devoured with a heart that knows safety is a body that offerswithout limitations.I adore the way you look at me;still hungry. And when you feast—I meet god. <
Siren Song of Substack (opens the original)
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Well look at you.You seem like my type;a thinker.You have so much to sayYou should come over herewhere you’re appreciated.We’ll take our timeI’ll undress every wordin your mind.Because you’re important.I’m not like the others.I see what you’re worth.I could please you.Let me read youlongand slow.Come explore with me.All work and no playmakes you invisible.Let’s do a line Or twoJust for fun.Come on, make me laughTurn me on.Don’t be so serious<br
The Burden of Men (opens the original)
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Your arms hold the weight of the things your heart is unwilling to. I trace your landscape; where the shadows fall in the valleys of your strength. Let me take your hand and show you how perfectly it fits in mine. I want to study the crosshatches on your knuckles, the callouses you’ve earned while you were building your walls. The tributaries that carry life across the back of your hands are swollen with your effort from walking with things you were never trained to carry. I don’t envy your burd
Cremating Angels (opens the original)
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This isn’t my very first memory, I don’t know how to arrange memories into a timeline. I question if the ones I do have are just borrowed from home videos or photographs. I don’t really know what was real and what was imagined. I don’t remember the paths I was made to walk that got me here.I joke with myself that I have superpowers. But when I was young I thought it was true. I thought that I had the ability to make things happen by thinking them. I’d be lying if I said that it doesn’t sometimes
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