No one will see this

No one will see these words, these thoughts

Especially not you

You who grew your hair out

And grew out of love

Tell me, was it gradual?

Or did you wake up one day and decide

Decide to break my heart

You who ruined those three words for me. 

The first time I heard them,

Were they real? 

Were we real?

Because we felt real for a while. 

We felt real to me

But then again I guess she felt real to you too. 

Eh hem, excuse me there was something in my throat

In my brain

In my heart

But it's gone now  

It's all gone now.

things I didn't learn in the classroom

sweet dreams

we haven't spoken in 36 hours and 13 minutes and you're fast asleep.

let me tell you that my heart has been breaking for 36 hours and 13 minutes
and I've only been eighteen for 27.

let me just say that it's 1:24 am and I'm getting over you.

let me tell you what I'm thinking before you tell me you have plans.

let me ask you a question before you change the subject.


let me move on before you apologize one more time.

       because maybe last time was the last time and we didn't even know it.

maybe you've already lost me but you're fast asleep.


sweet dreams.

remembering to breathe

right now im feeling sad in a want-to-cry sort of way

but im so done crying

right now im wondering why you didnt want to come over for dinner

right now the weight of the future is in my bones

and im finding it hard to breathe

right now is the time of night i regret not calling my grandmother

regret not telling her i love her one more time

while she still remembers my voice.

right now im wondering if youre thinking about me

but i feel like youre not

right now i feel kind of selfish

i guess crying is my release

i guess crying is when i remember to breathe

right now i need a hug

not from just anyone.

maybe from my mom because i know she means it.

maybe from my mom because i know she'll never let go.

what if she never lets go.

right now im remembering to breathe.

right now im remembering to breathe.

ten years

I was ten years old. 

I was ten years old baking snicker doodles in a one-time cooking class trying to find a hobby. My mom picked me up in so much pain that she was already on her way to the hospital. She was on her way to the hospital but she couldn't forget to pick up her baby. 

She was driving down north county boulevard and pulled over as she could no longer drive. We called my brother who was still 15 years old to come drive mom to the hospital. 

I remember our car parked on the side of the road. I remember my mom going into shock, freezing in an unnatural position. I remember that helpless feeling. I remember crying and jumping up and down outside the car. I remember a lady pulling over because she thought I was flagging her down. I remember there being nothing she could do. 

I don't remember the rest.

I honestly don't. 

I remember an emergency waiting room. I remember being afraid for my mom. 

I remember that feeling in my stomach I still get when I think about ever losing someone close to me. 

Because when you're ten years old you think you could lose your mom to a kidney stone. 

But she'll still pick you up from your cooking class, you can count on that. 

hello again

Sometimes

I was late to calculus because I was looking at the sky.

The clouds kept telling me to stay,

telling me they had more to show me

but I kept walking.

So maybe my soul's all right

but my body's all wrong.

Maybe my headaches keep me grounded.

Maybe they are all the words I could never say.

Maybe they are my insecurities or my failures,

pounding against my skull,

tired of being ignored.

Maybe I'm beautiful inside and maybe I know it inside.

Maybe God didn't like the look of my face when he saw it.

Sometimes I don't feel like myself.

Sometimes I feel okay.

Sometimes the clouds and the sky are putting on a show just for me

Sometimes.

my attic

When I was eight years old
I practiced every day.

I practiced every day
and I'm not just talking about piano.

I practiced smiling in the mirror.
I practiced walking from my chair to the drinking fountain.
I practiced spelling words and flirting with boys
I practiced speaking out loud
and being unapologetic.

I practiced wishing,
wishing for things.

Wishing for an attic
or a treehouse.
Wishing for a place to call my own.
a place to grow up.
to grow out.

and now I'm here.

I've grown up.
I've outgrown
my attic, and my practicing,
and everything that used to feel like me.

So I'll move to Provo,
and I'll buy my own groceries
and I won't cry while I do it.

And maybe I'll find my attic.

b&w

everything is people

This is something I've wanted to do for a long time, and now that I'm moving out in five months I found the time.

A work in progress.  Frames are next.

Rooms. (An Anis Mojgani Mashup.)

If there is a room inside of me

There was a window in the bedroom.

with your name written in it

Her bed was beneath it. In the afternoon with the lamp off

the language it is written in is a lovely one.

we stretched on the mattress.

One of figs and birds

Sometimes touching each other, sometimes not.

and beaches the color of butter.

Sometimes our fingers just lingered,

The walls blue, and at least one of them 

made from nothing but windows.

the day laying across us and the walls,

Another has shelves of speckled stones.

the color of the walls mixing

with the sun's dead empty light.

The light pours across the floors

It made everything in the room white.

and the trees outside

burn with song.

Soft. Open.

That's what I remember.

tell me about love.

tell me about it.

tell me about the way you speak to your mother

and her mother

tell me about the things you're glad you did

and the things you wish you hadn't.

tell me about your future 

and mine.

tell me about the way you eat a sandwich

and whether or not you think you'll live to see 100.

take me to your favorite place

and tell me about it.

tell me why you cried that thursday night

and why you tried not to.

tell me coke or pepsi.

tell me how you hold the steering wheel

so i can do the same.

because somehow i think we'd be close to holding hands.

teach me how to drive a stick-shift

and laugh at me when i cant.

tell me about your dreams 

and ill tell you mine.

because the wick is burning low

and love is a shout into the void

and ill tell you how my hand feels empty without yours

and my heart feels full when yours opens.

ill tell you why you scare me.

ill ask you why you love me.

and you'll tell me about it.

Bloom Twins - Talk To Me | Sofar London

Because this isn't my style.

But I'm such a fan.

Project #1: The Process

let us begin

scribbles on scribbles

  

frustration

an interrupting proposal <3

hours later

MIC DROP

hello.

i wear the same necklace every day

and if you give me another ill wear that one too

i keep a careful planner and find myself embarrassed by it

im skeptical of generalizations

and i drink more water than anyone i know

my humor is dry

and my eyes almost never are

in a not so sad sort of way

the smells that i love are actually people

and the dried flowers in my room are people too

and people are everything

and everything is people

im terrified of the future

im in love with the future

im terrified of love

im in love with love

im terrified of you.

ink & keystrokes

something about drafts & page 1

i was born on the sixth.

I was born on the sixth.
and I'm often found in my room

I've never been fond of growing up
and I'm afraid that everyone will leave.

I work at Hobby Lobby
and I'm terrible at goodbyes.

I cry too often to be taken seriously

I'm self-conscious of my weight
and really good at comparisons.

I love the smell of rain
and the way the sky seems to be painted just for me;
that kind of constant change that takes your breath away.

I love to drive with my arm out the window
and I sing at the top of lungs
                        but only when I'm alone.

I've never been in love
but have somehow fallen out of it more than once.

I'm often unsure of what to do
and I wish I wouldn't let people hurt me in the way they do.

My lungs rarely fill to capacity
and I run out of breath far too often.



Hi.
My name is paige.

I never learned to whistle.

I love the sound of my grandmother's voice
so I call her just to talk.

If you see me without my water bottle
I'm probably thirsty
           and not in the way teenagers in general are thirsty
but genuinely thirsty.

I hate the sound of ticking clocks
and I hope one day I'll come to terms
with time.

but I don't see that happening
so I roll with the punches
and let them catch up with me late at night.

If my husband dies before me I'll already be dead.

My name is paige.
and I was born on the sixth.

whispered

I remember when that boy made fun of my backpack
and that was the first time I held back the tears.
I remember when my sister came to church.
I remember when she loved it.
I remember when my house was pink in the daylight.
I remember when my grandpa pulled me out of the pool by my collar
and I remembered how to breathe.
I remember sitting next to that first boy and forgetting how to breathe.
I remember warm hearts and cold bones.
I remember that long drive when two hearts broke.
I remember Monday morning when I tried to catch your emails in my fingers.
I remember an unexpected phone call and the thing I thought felt like heartbreak.
I remember a text on Wednesday.
I remember a rose on Thursday morning.
I remember the anger
and the sadness on Friday.
I remember a lonely night
and I remember a full journal.
I remember a tight stomach and short texts.
I remember shivering for more reasons than the temperature.
I remember a dusty porch
and awkward silence.
I remember shaking fingers and slow speech.
I remember healing hearts and broken walls.
I remember a hug too long
and then too short.

I remember whispered apologies
and whispered goodbyes.