..           ..        ….             …               …          ….   …….        … ….

                ∘

          .

he smiled and assured me
i wouldn’t feel a thing…      ○
                                        •

                         °
                            .○
marines are the worst, 
they don’t get atta °ched. 
                                         °
                                     °.
they un-sentimentally.    ○ 
              °                pack
                   :     °     and are whisked  a w a y…

                       •          °
 °    will-o’-wisp.    ○
licking wounds w.
flash fire tongues…

sometimes i don’t follow . 
                                             .     
                                             .
       even my own wisdom.

sometimes i don’t 
even follow  .   ° 
                     my own.     .         °
                                                            •     d
                                                                •.    r 
                                                                            e
                                                                   ○
                                                                      a  °             •
                                                              m 
                                                        s        °    
                                                      .         ○
                                       °    
                                   ○
                                     °    
                             :

                                  ○    
                                      •

                   like  that   reoccurring  one 
                          when i chase a trail
                            of  meteorite dust
                                 directly to
                                     your
                                     door
                                       :
                                      .
                                    every
                                     time,
                                 i hold the
                             burning embers
                      in my palm. Sometimes,
                   a flicker of the flame  catches 
            and burns down everything i own.
                                  .  

                                         .

                                        d   u   s   k .  .  .          n

                                                                          ↟

                                     .
                    .

earth quakes
& i give way.

           °                                                    yesterday the sun set after
                                                                 the 7 o’clock hour
                                                                 for the last time this year.
                       •                                          7 is a lucky number.
                         ○
                                
                                                                                                                          e↠   (maybe i should call you later)
                                 

                                       °                         in about 3 hours the
                                 ○                              sun will set on your side.
(by your side) ↞w
                                                °
                                            : 
To be beside you again
sounds as distant
and above me                 . 
as a slice of heaven.          •

My cheek against                    °
the suede of              ○.
your soft stomach fuzz.   •
I want to place my head
on your shoulder again.
             ○
 

                                           •       i love you, more than friends.
                                                   (i couldn’t stop you if i wanted to)
                                                    i love you, *omitted.
                                        ○        (the walls shift in unnatural ways)
                                   .
                                   °•
                                                  i wanted you to stay.
                                           °      (every time i hear your name)
                                                   i love you so much
                                       • .       i will stand here
                                           ○      watch you shrink away.

because you deserve
sunsets in california.
you deserve
a stunning woman,
her perfect smile,
in a romantic place.             °

                                                ○
one who didn’t sell herself
short of her dreams.
you deserve to                  °
lose your breath,
youth, freedom,
and to exceed                    .
every expectation…             °

                                        ○
you deserve better than me.
no exceptions.  

 *six pm

O.

i had just read a brief history of time. remember that night? cosmic vertigo took hold of my insides, i quit cigarettes that instant, i crushed my last pack and i declared, to you, that death takes everything.
stephen hawking explained: the universe will have an end just as it has a beginning. so having no more time to waste i told you i loved your face more than any other faces and if there was to be even the tiniest trace of me left behind i wanted it to be the way i felt for you that night.

you blew smoke rings from stitched lips, and i talked in circles around you. bleary and bloodshot our eyes closed. you maybe never read stephen hawking but i know we both ran like bandits from sleep.

I.

earthy smell of marijuana permeated your beard and seasoned our tongues. *omitted, wasn’t it really something? being young and together the way we were. smoke stacked to the ceiling and the lamp glow casted halogen haloes around our heads. don’t you agree how.

ii.

though, i love you so deeply when i set my eyes upon you my pupils pool wide as i embrace the pressure of your body’s presence wrapping steadily abound my every bone’s soft marrow: i don’t dare proclaim that your love i know, nor that the love i feel could ever heal a single mortal’s bones. despite all it’s desperation and wonder, the emptiness that swells my soul like a cavity could never be filled by anyone other than me.

3.

though my brain wanders towards you and my limbs creek like the branches of trees, fingers empty of your touch like the winter misses spring leaves. i know you were a season and i needed to grow alone.
still the movements of time and her changing seasons, this bitter wisdom that has come from age and grace, nor these emotions that crash like waves cannot keep me from reminiscing so sweetly how we spent entire days and nights: undressed, wearing only one another, or how the sun came up too soon… *darling, i want more time with you.

*six pm

Disney’s Aladdin circa 1992

When cast upon the barren terrain of loneliness I’ve crafted many castles and shrines to give shape to this flat land. Worshiping Him who merely crossed but did not root.


Every smirk; a sunrise scattering blue light and casting a golden warmth upon my empty sand. I was a sponge; I absorbed every ray of His light and when His star set, I began to pray facing West. I was left alone in the dark with shadows and shapes of the towers looming unoccupied.


To preoccupy myself from the daunting empty and the always alone I painted murals and gilded each shrine with gold. I went hungry to leave rice cakes and fruits at His altar— hoping to lure Him into the home I’d created and love me again for the art I’d devoted to His likenesses and name.


Each note upon which I’d wrote became a poem, became a notebook, became a grimoire full of morbid canticles. Much like space my loneliness spreads infinitely, as vibration and blue songs, as if willing its way towards forever seeking the edge and an end.


Every red candle burned brightly not to satiate the darkness; but as prayers to cast beacons across the liquid night and beckon back His ghostly glow.


If He’d rose again and become my sun, daring only I stare into His deadly radiation I’d have gladly looked boldly until falling blind; so blindly did I seek to feel the embrace of love when I was empty and there was none. –six pm

♡ = 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

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

dearly *omitted,

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

.

.

.

*♡

Paige Six 2019


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