Cameron Jackson
November 2020
Headshot (PC @Mrs_LouJaxn).jpg

Cameron Jackson is a poet and storyteller, with work excitedly shared in many mediums. When not writing, he can be found at home with his wife, and their excessive pets. Find him on social (@Mr_CamJaxn) or visit to connect with his work.



I am weary

Not tired

Tired is what you have after a day of moving earth for new growth

Nothing grows if the earth does not flinch first

Tired is the taste of another mile, with a road straight behind you

Tree-lined, or sun-baked, the asphalt stretches back

Tired is a feather down drop away from morning

Light taking away the shadows and covers

I am weary

Not fatigued

Fatigued is the hole in an old leather belt

On a new reality of waist size

Fatigued is joking about a caffeine addiction

While getting the pot started for everyone to have a cup

Fatigued is debating between two neckties

And choosing a sweater instead

I am weary

Not done

Done is a confession made when sitting alone

Hoping someone overhears you, and holds you accountable

Done is a quiet like peace is a quiet

But silence does not always equivocate to peace

Done is a leap of faith without a parachute

With the faithless remaining on the ledge

Not done, no

Done is a punctuation mark, annotated to edit in to an exclamation point

Never making it past that rough draft

Rough is feeling drafted into the service of life’s narrative

Only reading yourself as a tertiary character

Character is recognizing when the hue of your existence 

Makes the gradient of your rainbow possible

Possible is just the impossible with a contraction at the start

Giving birth to being so much more than an apostrophe

I’m here, now

I am right in front of you

I am going to be

Look at the bags under my eyes as carry-on luggage for a red-eye to tomorrow

No cancelling my travel plans

The plane of my existence is wheels-up

My faithless ledge an emergency door, with too much pressure to open mid-flight

My coffee is served with individual creamers, sweeteners, and warmth

The road behind me was a runway, and it is gone

I am weary

But my seat reclines

I am alive


I stepped in some love on the way here

Absolutely ruined a perfectly good pair of shoes

It’s so inconsiderate

People out there just spitting love directly on the ground

Have some respect

Yeah, I get that it started out tasting sweet

And that after chewing on it for a while

It got a little tough

And flavorless once you got used to the taste

But throw it away like the rest of the decent folk

It’s not that hard

It’s just… so sticky

Grabbing on to whomever has the misfortune to pick it up

Glopping in to every crevice of your sole

Now I can’t even sell them

Because of how attached that dang love is

What’s worse

Now I’m the asshole

Tracking love absolutely everywhere I go

Every other step

A piece of love for some other jerk to step in