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found images of you moving on a scuffed vhs tape. i heard your voice sing sweetly something i never thought i’d hear again. the coffee buzzes my brainwaves and allows me to think clearly.
spotify playlist where i saved the serenades you wrote for me. every melody from the songs we *♡’ed from that concert we drove to Baltimore to see. we spent the night together in that fancy suite. we ate the world’s worst pizza and smoked the world’s finest weed.
i noticed how the girl in your songs had red hair before she had mine. how you thought your favorite color was green before you realized how dangerous were my eyes. i think you’re a liar. because you texted me last Thursday just to say.you didn’t wanna *♡ me anymore. °
. Vv. ○
i don’t think it’s too funny how every time i try to write about you, all my poems ends the same way. you’re a cycle of never ending torment. an apocalypse where my ♡ seeks rest and the grief lasts for eternity. i would believe the gift of having you once, and the feeling of losing you, akin to losing everything is the punishment i get for believing god exists somewhere inside of me. in a place within my psyche i long for it to not be.° .. . .:
. . * ,
i’d stop writing about your café au lait eyes all together if the fondness of our encounters didn’t purr like the white noise of needles scratching vinyl records. i’d stop dreaming of you in color if you didn’t look just like a sunset. i would rue the day i crossed your path and askew the day you. crossed me. although you were the one to do me wrong, i am burdened with your memories. as you live a life that seems like paradise without me.. .
are you lonely? is this why every now and then you call me? do you long for my warmth the same way i long for your, ‘i’m sorry’. if you could go back to last ○ would you take back all the horrible ways you hurt me? would you have come to my house at all? begged for a last *♡ and the back of my throat? would you have fought for me? would you have let him have me so easily if you knew then what is reality this instant?
that i am a married woman, now. -six pm
When my mother asked me if I wanted a cat, I told her no. Still, she gave me a cat. She snuck him into my home inside her jacket, released him upon my living room, and handed me a half-empty box of kibble. But Moblin was a blessing. I’ve been given many blessings in life that I didn’t deserve, and Moblin was certainly one of them.
Every time I think about Moblin, I think about how I took for granted how I was certain I’d have him for 18 years. How I looked forward to watching him age. How I spent so much private time with him in the early mornings. How I had a short temper with him when he’d piss on my novel, or my artwork, or my bed. Because he was the most honest critic on the East Coast and frankly nothing was up to snuff—he was the only one bold enough to tell me. Now I wish I could pull apart every blanket and basket of dirty laundry and be set to re-wash them for the rest of my life. I miss him so much, even the parts that were hard about raising him. Because he was my little boy.
In his last hours we sat and watched a storm roll in. He wanted me to hold him. He spent most of his time on my chest. I would caress him, and call him “Baby” and with the end of his weakening tale strength his tale would sway and wrap around me. When he was a kitten I’d call out “Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaby, Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaby Mooooooobliiiiiiiiiiin” and he’d hustle over on his light feet, 3 mittens and one long sock, a tuxedo chest, beaming greenish eyes, and a little white chin. The cutest meow, the silkiest fur, and he’d cuddle in a ball on the couch with me, where I slept, because I couldn’t afford a bed. I couldn’t afford a cat. Ultimately that’s what stopped us from being able to save him. The vet wouldn’t offer us any extensive care to try and save him unless we could come up with 2 grand at 3 am immediately. They made my husband leave the office, our cat spitting blood and barely breathing, to go to a Quick Check ATM so that we can take out the 700 dollars they needed to put him to sleep. I turned the lights off in the office while we waited, and I held him, and sang to him, and apologized for failing him.
I have so much guilt, but having a cat’s life cut so short, 2 of the 20 years he deserved, is a Hell I’ll never forgive myself for allowing to exist on Earth. I miss my boy with everything in me. I’m so sorry I couldn’t give him more. I don’t even know what went wrong, just that it happened so fast.
Hold your family a little closer tonight, for me. I hope Moblin is truly at rest, it’s the least I could hope for. But he deserved more. He deserved better. And we didn’t deserve him.
Today is my daughter’s last day of homeschool. It’s also just a couple weeks before she’s officially a teenager. I wonder if I could have made more of this time… all of it, but especially the last year with her home. We haven’t spent this much time together in a long time. While the pandemic which spurred this stint was not by any means on our terms, it’s still been a blessing to have had it.
It feels like the bustle of the hustle blinded me. I take things slower now. I don’t want things to go back to the way they were before. I don’t she does either, honestly. Now we must strike a balance. I hope she is treated well in her new school. I hope that sending her back will be a decision we are happy about. I hope that college doesn’t take me away from her too much as it did the first time around.
Here’s to hoping!
Paige Six | 6.17.21
I can’t say that I’ve embodied the paradigm of enlightenment. My emotional intelligence and compassion has a long way to go before I can even truly embrace that kind of love of myself. However, looking back at old journals, talking others in text, vox, video, or in person, and especially my recent time on reddit has given me some clarity to reflect upon how far I’ve come and what I had to do to get here.
Let me catch you up briefly on my life as it stands. I’m enrolled in college, growing some beautiful marijuana plants, and starting an Etsy. My husband and I have a 3 year and a 5 year plan and home ownership is on the not-so-distant horizon. I’ve lost about 8 pounds, and am going to approach a healthy life along with a healthier lifestyle. I’ve learned not only how to tidy and clean but how to declutter which has transformed my life in many ways beyond the satisfaction I feel about my home. I’ve spent over a year with my daughter all day every day and I am grateful for this rare opportunity that I had with her as a mother.
So when someone asks me for help; people (friends and strangers alike) calling out to others for hope while they’re struggling with weight, finances, or even just depression I want to tell them what I’ve done, but what I’ve done is so internal and personal that to give a step-by-step process would seem vapid—it always does! But if I could put it into some sort of poetic expression it would be this:
Everything you need is already inside of you. You are the world. You are the universe. And you’re not unhappy because of the lack of love which you do not receive but because there is a lack of love you are not yet understanding how to, or are not able to, embody. The passions and the care that lacks, that creates a void within, you have to find a way to fill that yourself. You must care and have compassion for yourself and those who treat you well. You must cut those who do you harm, and leave spaces that don’t serve you.
I don’t know if it will help you today. But through my journey this is what I’ve learned, and I hope if nothing else that it helps give you hope, today.
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” -Anaïs Nin
♥ I get a little personal here. Trigger Warning: Opiate Abuse
Thank you everyone who has been supporting NJ Grow. The encouragement truly means so much to me as I was incredibly unsure about not only sharing but doing this at all.
Someday, I hope to find an outlet that wants to support my passion projects. I want to make a living hearty enough to support a home in a temperate region, near water, that sustains a large garden by writing poetry books and strange novels.
Last night I had a dream about maple seeds twirling around me that felt so grounded in reality I didn’t realize I was dreaming until my dog woke me up to be let outside. I thought, “that first chapter of Braiding Sweetgrass must’ve really spoken loudly to me”. I’d read it weeks ago so truly this I believe. I dreamt of Skywoman and I dreamt that I’d found forgiveness for Eve. I woke with zest, ready for a day of hard work in the garden and a morning full of poetry and creamed coffee.
It was to my pleasant surprise that I walked out onto my garden deck, carrying that coffee in my grandmother’s fox mug, to find the glass table, my potted plants, my citronella candles, my beautiful little marijuana seedlings, all decorated with maple seeds—plucked dragonfly wings—and more still cascading down from what looked like Heaven. That was 8 AM, and in the Spring/Summer months 8 AM is yellow, the blue of the Winter mornings that I love dearly is shed in the earliest hours of 4 and 5, and I’ve not been waking up that early for a long time now.
I don’t try to believe in mystical coincidences, giving credence to these happenings to a higher power when the magic of simple healthy life is a miracle to be gracious for alone, but sometimes life has a way of making them hard to ignore. An italicized idea snug in the middle of a mundane sentence called “The Morning Routine”. And isn’t that really the moral of the Skywoman mythology/belief? Either way, I returned some of my coffee to the Earth, and I hope it was enough to say thank you for such blessed sights.
I’ve seen a lot of ugly sights in my life, and so I’m trying hard to remain grateful for every beautiful ones. Especially since that afternoon in November where I closed my mother’s dead eyes. I’m haunted quite literally by my mother’s ghost and not in the sense that we’d have hoped for jokingly when she was alive. I like to imagine, even just for my own sanity that she is in these maple seeds, in my seedlings, in the grasses, the clovers, the coffee…
Some days I don’t know what to write in the mornings, so I don’t. I study, or garden, or clean… But days like today—when the laundry has piled and the floors beg me for a mop—it all boils over into my dreams. I know I’m on fire or steaming; I’m pouring over the edge with some experience, well of thoughts, emotionally ripe and it all must flow out of me somewhere. So I find a page and I let it bleed red.
Perhaps one day these seeds of thoughts will be a great maple. Those who plant the seeds of maple trees never live to see how tall the trees grow, or live drink of their sugar even one time, do they? And it’s okay that this is the way. I believe it is so, anyway. –Paige
Paige Six | 5.22.21