I write poetry for the soul of the poet and the scientist. I also read many books and paint many things.

i.

 ◍
the night came early the day you died. and the winter soaked into the tail end tides of fall. never not… autumn was a comfort and a warning. november was a time of changing times.. portal opens and we are born, your daughters, and you, our mother, would disappear… never not the body in blue morgue… nevertheless… mother’s kiss gentle as the wind blows and whisks gently swaying kitten whiskers and hums and purrs.
 

ii.
                             ◑
a new black chapter and a funeral. never not… alone and anew… never not my family, drowning out the white noise recorder left beside your pillow listening for your spirit. never not… two daughters, darlings distraught, arrested in the same spot the ghost of you rests… straight desire, straight razor seriously… never not; a makeshift ouija board, maybe, made up of your makeup… never not wake up wrapped in blankets; the cold is too strong and the dark is too long… your wake is tomorrow. you were yesterday. i ruin now. this hurt feels eternal.
 

iii.

                                                        ◯
nevertheless… winter encroaches; branches bare scraping at milk light moon white… never not… daylight savings saved nothing at all.. never not… death be at my side; the space where you sat beside me… i studied time and wasted all that was left with you.
 

iv.
                                                                                ◐
i want to set out like the autumn soaked in bitter blowing the crispness crippling crunch of back breaking cracked leaf; forgive me for not skipping over them. forgive me the frogs i kissed while not sitting beside and being kind to you… never not leave this empty season; leave life behind; follow you into the night; become milk white.. never not.. starlight collapses into blackhole magnetic and swallow me… never so.
 

v.
                                                                                                            ∗   ◌
always still… i could never unkiss you… never would… never not… i would never. i can never love you less.. never lose the moments of kindness we crossed like chests… never not hope to die… never not my heart beat the same. never not see a woman who… looks just like you… and not call her your name. never not… just in case. branch crushes window panes… glass shatters… never over you… never forget your empty space… forget you not …never forget you forever. AMEN. -six pm

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Ȋ̸̛̩̩̞̘̻̫̫͐̀ ̷͎̥̬͔͑̂̄́̈́͝͝h̶̛̪̣͇̩̏͑̂̋̎a̵̟͔̹̟̰̤̐̇͊v̶̡̛̪̯̙̱̞̝̞̝̹̂͆́̊́̄͛e̷̹̤͉͝ ̴̨̧̡̛͚͇̝̰̬͖͛̒̈͂̔͘͝ñ̵̼̻͇̀̑͛̏ͅě̸̘̓́̽̋̑͗͠v̴͇͍̖͈̰͙̬̘̻͚̈ȇ̴̦̄͒͘r̷̮̼̰̩͕̟̮̤͗ ̵̡̙̤̣̙̖̟͚͊̂̆ͅȧ̸̡̡̢̛̳̦͚̕v̸̜̘̦̱͙̹̳̲̱̄̈̒̀͝e̸̡͚̗̣͇̹̾̆̍͋̌n̷̢͔͈̠̘̓g̴͎̦͉̉̓͗̕e̵̢̟̩̣͙͙̐͗̄̂͒ḋ̸̳͉͖͖͇̰̠̥̲̇̍̏͛͘͜͠ ̷̛̺̦̯̩̪͌́̉̌̿̉͐m̵̪̓͠y̴̱͍̆̍̂̂̾͋͘s̷̱͕̰̞̳͕͙̱̼͆̅̃̌͠ę̷͚̤̙͓͈̹̺̲̖͑̂̈́͑̄̅͑͋̎͠l̵̝̞̣͉̃͑̍̎f̸͈̞͇͒́̈͛̈́͌̌̾.̷̨̤͙̲̬̬̩͆̃ ̶̻̣͍̂̆̀͝I̴̧̳̤͑̐ ̷̨̘͑̽͝͝ͅl̶̨̙̤͈̲̗̽̂̀͌͌̐̉͂͘ȩ̶̛̛͓͕̻͔̳̳̭̙̐͊̓͝͝͠a̸͙͖̖̋̔̽̏͠ͅv̴̧̛͕͔̀̄̈́̏͝ẹ̷͍̰̟̫̣̤̏̾̇͐́̃̈́̑ ̴̨͕͆í̴̢̧̙̠̥̩̫̇́̂̀͐̕t̵̛̮̝̄̓̀̓͘͜ ̸͖̠̰̯̏̈̈́͜t̷̢̤̭̺͖͒͗ò̵̢̪͇͂͋̔ ̷̡̛̗̫͍̼̈́̇̾̒͘t̶̢̢̬̗̦̹̠̣͈͌̄̈́̕h̴̽͘ͅę̴̯̍̈́͂̓̆ ̶̢̛̪͌͌̿̿͂͑͊̎w̵͇̲̜͉͎̟̳͒͒̂͌r̸̝̫̲̠̼̠̣̱̈́̈́̾ạ̶͉̠̩͎͈̈́̅͒͆͒̾̂̾̐t̴̼̻̳̣͊h̸͉͇̭̲̣̏͛ ̸̠̮̤͙̻̈́̒̀͂́́̇̉ó̴̮̺̔͑̀͑̉f̸̞̈́͌͊̈́͌̈́ ̸̬̜͙͕̏͂̎́͒͆͠G̵̠̱͚̳͊͆̆ǫ̶̻͈̞̆̐͆̚̚͝d̶͓̏.̶̧̘̣͈̪̞̩̭̱͋͂̓́͜

                                              * ·      · ˚
  ✧
⁕                                                    
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·

                   · ˚          .
                                          ⁕                              ­                                 
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i propose that fate is not the ¹⁰¹⁰⁰¹ :
opposite of choice; * . •
if fate, choice, ° . .
form a triumvirate of cause
and effect. :
nestled beneath . * •
every pin feather
of chance. . °

·                   · ˚          .
                                          ⁕                              ­                                 

in this i avenge myself . •
and sacrifice evey word i wrote .
to the wrath of *♡. ; • .

even in being as odd as I AM. . .
a living (by) breathing . •. . ° . ;
example of peculiarities: contrary things
○:□, all manner of art. (♡-He) . : .
so perfectly; perfect opposites–He asked me:

·                   · ˚          .
                    .                      ⁕            .                  . ­                                 

“what have you cut off of your flesh,
lately?” ·       · ˚ .

So i confessed
to dumbing down the equations
so that every man could understand them.
i confessed in flesh my weakness
having wanted to be seen. (el roi)

        · ˚          . ○ . .
             .                             ⁕                               ­       •                .          
. . ° .

and He hardened your ♡–so the
anointing would be crystal. : * .

when the new words come before you
when you open up my vision. •. *

⊹ . . . . .
    🪐   •     . 
   . *        · ˚
            . °.   ✷
     .

it was not coincidence * . ° .
when *♡ called me by name a number. :
it is how fate is not the ¹⁰¹⁰⁰¹
opposite of choice; • . . *
i know now that fate, choice, .• .
form a triumvirate of cause . ○ • . . .
and effect . . , . . * .
nestled beneath. . . •.
every pin feather • . °
of destiny. ; .



   *        · ˚
              ✷ .
“you must work six days to reap the blessings of the seventh,” He told me…

He told me…

He told me… ∞. . .

six pm

(*inspired by sermon: Anointed for the Altercation by T.D. Jakes, and God♡♡♡)

♡ = complete with handmade art

This collection is handmade from cover to cover. I hand-bind, pick the paper, and can even personailize the poetry.

         .•                           
  ✧   .
he-art (a broken heart) = just the words + text art only
.     ✦

   *     .  ● · ˚
             ⛈    .               

This collection will be a standard book, with text art that I am known for, and will be available at a set, affordable price. And available for immediate printing.

*Pre-order a fully painted poetry book by emailing me: Paige6@by6pm.art ♥︎

*Love,

the always imitated, never duplicated—

*♡Paige

Tuesday we close on our new home. School is going well, however I’m considering transferring to a new school that’s closer to our home. My driving knowledge test is on the 18th. — and there’s more tba soon!

Please keep my family in your prayers. – paige

You know why I hate touch screen phones? Because of how often I find myself typing *our, out, and *put are just variations of the autocorrect variables + my fat thumbs (*that ac aggressively suggests I must mean “far”)

That’s about all for the morning. ♡paige

July 2021

I have spent the last 3 years or so unfocused to allow my interests to wander so that my passions might be revealed. It was a leap of faith, as I am not a trusting person by nature, anymore. I wouldn’t say that I’ve “found myself” so much as I found that I put myself last.

I’m sure I’m not alone in this. I see now where there are gaping holes in my discipline, where I am intimidated to push forward. Chasing your dreams is no whimsical task. Building the strength to push into a future of unknown hardships is intimidating.

I’ve sacrificed so much and failed before. But at the same time, while I might have bruises on my ego, or less than I’d hoped to have gathered, I have few regrets and have made progress all the same.

Honestly, so much turmoil could have been avoided if I wasn’t caught up in making steps and allowed myself to mull over my desires. In 2019 I vowed to ‘remain’, to be still, and in 2021 I am just starting to reap the benefits of that mantra.

I still don’t know what exactly I want. That’s the crazy thing. But I do know that there are parts of me that need to be creative. I need to write. I need to paint. I hope that my path forward has room for these pieces of me, & I hope the world has a desire to embrace my talents.

I fear what so many creatives fear; that my work put to word or canvas is not “good enough” for praise. Perhaps social media was the wrong place to be sharing my work all along. What I no longer wonder, however, is if I have talent. And that’s a heavy burden lifted off my chest.

I’ve always struggled with making friends. I’m not sure what I do wrong, but the computer has proven just as challenging a place to forge connections as any playground ever was. I think my poetry itself was born out of needing to express myself to someone else. Anyone. Literally. But I can’t tell when a person is just who they are or when I’m interacting with a person set on making their given name a ‘brand’. Not that a fault them either way. It’s the nature of what these places have become. And that’s not entirely any one person’s fault.

I’ve become a bit of a walnut, however, because of it. I don’t want to share my new work, and I’m intimidated by the process of publishing. I’m at a crossroads because I’ve loved the freedom of my own space but can’t bridge the gap to making it lucrative in any capacity.

This rat-race mentality is why I deleted a successful poetry IG and left game journalism/blogging. Even though I was able to make a small income, it was never enough to justify the time and money necessary to invest in making myself simply *visible.

For a long time this made me feel so bitter. I couldn’t afford the time or $$ to invest in a program at any of the colleges or retreats my favorite modern poets are involved in. & the friendships I’d try to build in these communities would fade just as quickly as they blossomed. And my art being ripped-off on Poetizer by my discord “friends” in the unofficial group really pierced my heart. Not to mention that the admin hardly crediting me for the group prompt felt like bad form and makes me feel like we’re not friends at all. Which considering that we’d been talking online for years hurt my feelings.

The time to remain seems to have come to an end for me, but where to go now? If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much! If you feel the same way I feel, let’s talk. If you have advice, I am humbly all ears. I want to shatter the looking glass & make your acquaintance. -♥ Paige