Avatar the Last Airbender 2004-2008



Wish you could love me
As you loved the sunsets
In California.
I never trust in anyone
But for some reason
I trust you.
And if you fly to the other side
Know, one day, I’ll follow you.

I wish you cared enough about me
To watch the sun rise in the East
We’re New Yorkers, it’s in our blood
Staying out and running the streets before the dawn.
I’m always on the run
And you should be too.
There’s a place out there for us to grab
I am waiting for you
To lace up your shoes

But you, you’ll sleep all fucking day.
I don’t care, I can wait
Trust, I have the patience of a saint.
I’ll always love you, somehow
anyway -six pm

Paige Six | April 2018

How adorable are these watercolors? I created this concept for a comic book in 2017, made this first particular sketch in 2018, and I’ve been working on it ever since. The second illustration was completed in 2019, along with many others.

It will take a while to be able to share the final product, but I wanted to share this with you guys. Handmade paintings take the time they need, not the time we need lol!

*In the future, I’m planning on having them professionally scanned for higher quality sharing. Due to their size I cannot scan them at home.

Paige Six | 2021

for fifty days i fasted,

knowing no-thing,

save the retching of my own flesh,

save the pit of my own stomach.

*

for your arrival safely we sold

our cattle, fashioned a festival

our first kiss –a first sip of wine

on the day break of Pentecost,

at last my fast was over.

*

we fashioned circles of precious metals

and strung them around each other’s

vena amori, declared forever in a vacuum

proclaimed endurance upon the coming

event horizon of time itself.

*

space swells with the ancient ruins

of men and women who shed tears

tracing the constellation trails

from one end of an ocean to another

filling the void of voiceless oceans

with metaphoric rapture and appetite

for adventure.

*

*darling, the smell of desert sand swims

firmly between your pores,

your body warm as the land

cut like mountains

between your biceps

where my head lays

basking in the moments

you are here. 

*

how i adore you so.

*

proclaim eternity

enter matrimony – eyes wide open

place his heart upon a pedestal

let no slanderous word nor malicious canticle

seduce his woefully mortal heart.

*

roots and petals of calendula

poultice to quell the spasms

you take me in my blood 

and i take you in my arms 

when the nightmares hurt 

worse than the back pain.

*

you remind me that even in the winter

the carmine-colored cardinal coos

and whistles, awakens the trees and fills

the cold world with sweet song.

*

i’m unraveled in your high collar,

blue and burned in a freak fire,

raptured by the desert

nothing is forever, we know,

yet everything is possible.

*

there is no going back.

*

on this river of time

except maybe we’ll escape 

the event horizon burn 

as radiation about 

the black hole’s radio halo.

*

dying light is a subjective notion

when you limit every poetic persuasion

to the limits of the human eye.

*

we weave honey, orange citrus, & marmalade

into spacetime tapestry,

 devote each second

as the present is our own reward

the art of being in love,

the pleasure of being alive.

*

the future is a metaphor –

as in calling the ocean endless

naming riptides undertow

we: new and other molecules

blur into water, two bodies

one brackish soul.

*

-six pm | *after easter

*

*
April Egg Moon | Photographer: Paige Six, 2020

*

i.

I am a golden dawn and this is my orchestra. There are cracks in my soul glow, carry like broken notes, but as the light breaks the horizon I carry them well. I carry the heavy load, the low tones, the vibration pitter pattern wringing out the old rag and make streams from the runnels. They called it nesting but I called it cleaning the walls and floors to no avail because I was the only one who cared about the child growing inside of me in the whole circle.

*

ii.

Time is a wrinkled fold in the corner of her eyes. I press them out with the girth of my thumb and hope the world learns to embrace change. Her skin stretches as my heart sinks. Cut the baby curls and let them populate the linoleum. I find comfort in the signs of aging, in the middle of the folds that foreshadow the way my child’s face will soften as the years callous her soft hands. Look to the mirror to see her in 30 years because I may not be; and she looks so much like me when I was younger.

*

The moon has a navel, I gaze up its intricate craters and see the umbilical cord, a tell-tale cluster of  constellations, cut from Mother. Earth can only watch as space smacks her first child; mars her daughter’s glowing smile with imperfections; carving holes into her powder surface. I can only relate in the most holy helpless manner

*

iii.

A brain fold beneath a miracle, a raven crown of perfect follicles dry of melanin dripping silver everywhere. A surgical procedure carved of sawdust, and she a comet spilling stardust. If I was a dawn then she is a choir. I a setting sun and her new day a chorus. This is my orchestra but the music is for my daughter, my golden dawn but a fleeting moment and her life an endless sea of sparkle. An oasis where only time bends to the gravity, a notebook, a sonnet, a melody.

– six pm |*the moon has a navel; we all gaze upon her

Aladdin 1992


i.

I think that I knew it

the moment we kissed

I’d made a terrible mistake

Time yawned for my heart

(she stretched, pulled her own fabric)

nearly ripped herself apart

(her pity was an act of mercy)

Those few moments extended revealed

(time is a rubber band)

the whirring patterns of faery light

(gravity is a mould)

spidered, webbed, holding reality together

(These are my favorite days)

when I lay back to

let earth swallow me in her sand

(these memories will be my solace)

everyone moves on

we (I) must, anyway

our song; v. a prayer

(that you will make it home alive)

our verse; v. voodoo binding you to I

(so that you will still love me after)

ii.

Repeat.

(Repeat)

Reincarnation.

A reoccurring dream

My worst nightmare

(you – me)

I hear the skies in Iraq are a breathtaking sight

(northern hemisphere)

did you count every star?

(the fortune teller told me)

the creator mapped each constellation

(from me to you)

iii.

Welcome home brave soul

defender of the desert

keeper of her secrets

I’ll hold a ticker tape parade in your honor

10 carnations

(red + white)

wrapped in ribbons

(navy blue)

my gifts to you

I’ll provide the paper; a billion poems

that I ripped apart

trying to describe your perfect teeth

I saw your smile in the waxing gibbous

every month on quiet evenings

One year ago; it still aches

like a new wound (∞)

our relation; my yearning passion

(my poetry; n. dying art)

six pm | *ad nauseum

Photographer: Paige Six

I’ve waited quite literally a lifetime to settle into the type of love which brings the terms settling to a distinctly new definition. I love my husband the way I love to run barefoot through grass. I love my husband the way I love to find shapes in clouds.

So when he came home yesterday telling me he needs more tests, that his back may be giving out not due to the degeneration of his discs which the VA insists is not a service related disfigurement, but because there may be a growth on his spine, well it felt fitting that the bright side of his diagnosis rests on the chance that the signs of a growth may be only a shadow.

For reasons I will not disclose in this portion of my writings: I feel like Faust. How beautiful it is to feel the skin of a lover who embraces you so whole, gentle on the blade of his fingers my cheeks, wisps of baby hairs, and the gentle swell of grey hairs spreading across our hairlines. How heartbreaking it is to put the plans to buy a home on hold because treatments cost so much money, and money doesn’t grow on trees nor has a history of populating my pockets for too long.

We used to sing together in his silver Elantra “it just takes some time…”, but the closer I get to whatever remains of my life the more I understand how time only takes. Every break I take risks breaking me as well as it can rejuvenate my body and mind. The fine line between resting and rusting, how I’ve made a living of walking its tight rope. And the bygones kept floating by.

We still sing together, more than ever. Only it’s in our white Buick. My only regret is that we didn’t realize that this was the best life could be. We went our separate ways for so long, and now we have no idea what’s left. It’s such a bittersweet kind of dream life.

Paige Six | 10.07.20