A letter from the road
North Carolina → New York
My Address Changed.
My Voice Didn’t.
There are nights when the roof over my head is the same roof that carries me down the highway.
When the place I park has to become the place I rest.
A divorce. A life rearranged. And somewhere between the ending of a marriage and the beginning of whatever comes next, I lost the place where I used to put my keys.
Right now, I’m living in my car.
Read my journeyClose the letter
But there are still words in here.
Still poems gathering in the passenger seat. Still a woman behind the wheel with something to say and somewhere she’s trying to go.
From North Carolina to family in New York, I’m taking my story on the road.
And I’m opening a seat for you.
Come see what I see.
The little restaurant with a story behind the counter. The town you’ve heard of but never walked through. The view that makes us stop talking because, for once, the world has said enough.
Tell me what you’re curious about. Suggest a place along my route.
When I can safely make the stop, I’ll turn the camera and bring you into the moment.
Somewhere along the way, a conversation may become a poem.
A stranger may say something we both needed to hear.
And a stretch of road we would have hurried through may give us a reason to look a little closer.
That’s what I’m creating.
A travel journal written in miles, told through my camera, and felt through my words.
I’m bringing my poetry. My perspective. My willingness to let you witness a life while it is being rebuilt.
Your contribution helps put fuel behind the next mile, food within reach, and a little more stability beneath the work.
Family is waiting in New York. They don’t have the money to carry me the distance.
So I’m bringing what I have to the journey:
A voice. A camera. And the ability to make something meaningful out of what I’m living.
If that is something you want to be part of, choose a poetry keepsake below.
Each amount includes a different poem— my words, for you to keep.
And if you can’t contribute today, share the page. Follow along. Bring your conversation.
There is room for you here, too.
I don’t know everything this road will ask of me.
But I know who’s holding the pen.
I’m Jaeide X.
My address changed.
My voice didn’t.
And I have more to show you.
Jaeide XPoet · Storyteller · Still moving