Author: Monet Jackson

My disjointed belongings are lost amongst themselves.

My clothes have met my decor for the first time and

spent nearly a month together in the dark.

I miss knowing exactly where my hands will fall

along the wall after 5 steps

down the hall

walking with my eyes closed.

I check my footing gliding across the floor slowly.

Cold ceramic hits the tip of my toe.

I hear a clink.

I balance myself pulling back.

What follows is a barrage of my beloved mugs

teetering on the carpet.

I haven’t found their hooks yet.

– Monet J.

A detective on SVU has your nose.

Your freckles were on a Dollar Tree cashier.

Your hands were holding a door open for me.

A woman spoke to me through lips like yours.

None of them are you. I don’t want them to be.

I am grateful for these passersby

I slog my way out of my cocoon, 

my cave of continuous dormancy.

I was finally getting used to it.

My eyes are cut by the sun’s rays. 

I take in the warmth. 

All this time I expected an immediate rush—

of excitement. 

Impending goodness. 

I expected the enriching feelings 

of creativity and lustered thought, 

but as my awareness sank into me, 

my heart sank too.

I was free—

to be fragile, frail and vulnerable.

I was hidden in the shadows, 

protected by the darkness of winter. 

But now— 

I am broken open to the world.
Spring has sprung and so must I. 

As I face the realities of the days that lie ahead, 

I know that the sun will illuminate everything 

that I have grown through. 

So, as my eyes adjust to the exposure, 

I am reminded of my viscous existence— 

settled into the mold of my grievances.

I’ve longed for this so much, 

forgetting what it truly brings.

The revelation. 

The appearance of all that I’ve become, 

is now exalted upon the glare of the silver sky.

I look up with honest eyes. 

I must acknowledge that I no longer recognize myself.

The wet heaviness of 

silt and slick 

hug the soles of my feet. 

Legs sunken 

in taupe and algal-green

water. 

I hear what sounds like 

the soft hand of a mother 

soothing her baby. 

Pat-pat,

as the water

kisses the knees

of the bent reeds.

Water striders 

tiptoe across the 

greige opaque mirror.

Small vortices

propelling them forward— 

like a timid christ.

I have a sneaking suspicion 

I am being watched. 

A careless shift

would frighten the 

birds ’ feathered whips,

sending them flying to

their next illusory 

Safe house.

someone else will have 

the responsibility of 

silence.

The mummichogs and silversides

are lazy. 

Hiding in their hollowed homes, 

wading in fear or anticipation 

or sleep. 

The dense woven roots 

swaddle the fish 

through every season.

And every evening,

when the brackish waters

encroach on the banks, 

the reeds

    are swallowed 

     up to their waists.

They do not fight back.

They let the tepid water

 cradle them.

I feel my eyes growing dry and drooping.

I blame my coffee crash 

or broken sleep, 

but I know it is the slow tide within me 

dragging itself away from my shores— 

settling into dormancy once more. 

I’m so glad you’ve found your way here!

My name is Monet (they/them), and I am a poet who thrives in the in-between—the liminal spaces of emotion, nature, and human connection. My writing is an ongoing exploration of longing, transformation, and the delicate balance between vulnerability and strength. Through storytelling and introspection, I seek to weave a world where rawness and tenderness coexist, where the personal becomes universal.

Poetry, to me, is more than words on a page—it is rhythm, sensation, and dialogue with both the seen and unseen. With a creative background spanning music, movement, and language, I embrace expression in its many forms, allowing them to shape and inform my voice. Whether painting visceral images of the natural world or tracing the quiet complexities of selfhood, my work is an invitation—to feel deeply, to linger in the in-between, and to embrace the transformations that come with being human.

This space will be a reflection of that journey. Here, I will share poetry, musings, and glimpses of the creative process. I hope it becomes a place where we can connect, where words spark recognition, and where we can explore the beauty of uncertainty together.

Thank you for being here. Let’s step into the liminal together.