JAKE W. BECKER

I write from the heart of Chicago, a city that pulses with life and sustains my soul. My words are stitched from scars and survival, from the chaos of grief and the clarity of sobriety. I’m a storyteller who doesn’t believe in neatly packaged narratives. Instead, I find solace in raw truths, jagged edges, and sentences that bleed honesty. Writing became my lifeline after losing my husband to suicide in 2022, a way to transform wreckage into something that breathes outside of me. 

Music drives that process; every playlist I build, every lyric that cuts deep, becomes the rhythm behind my words. Songs are my compass, my emotional shorthand, the pulse that shapes every page. Art is my lifeline too. I collage, illustrate, and my style is forged armor from thrifted treasures and haunted memories. My work isn’t decoration, it’s confession. It’s where my darkness meets beauty, where resilience becomes my texture. Every piece I create hums with the soundtrack that raised it, echoing the beats that kept me alive when silence felt fatal. This space is my open door, a mixtape of scars and survival, stitched with ink, sound, and truth.

Welcome to the era after the end.