Paige in a Poem

This poem was written when I was sixteen. I've never been able to explain myself in an organized way except for this, and of course, this still doesn't make too much sense. But then again, neither do I. 

I don't keep a beat, my emotions are never steady,
I could tell you to go now, but in reality I'm never ready.
I make every mistake to be made, and I practically do it on purpose,
I'm rough around the edges, and smooth at the surface.

All I ever want is to be told I'm loved, and that it will stay that way,
but I can never keep it held; it always slips away. 

I push and push until nothing can be pushed anymore,
to the point where nothing is left; I've worn you to the core.

I push every button, just to see what will happen,
hoping to get nothing but my own satisfaction.
Instead it's the opposite, and I just shove you away
and then I deal with that guilt, every single day.

I say what I think, but I never mean what I say,
I change my mind all the time, every second of every day.
If I could keep a steady pace in my words I would,
but it's not easy to speak when nothing I have to say is any good.

I wish I could hear you say, "I’m sorry that I hurt you, I’m sorry that I never cared. 

I’m sorry that I lied to you, and faked the love we shared.

I’m sorry that I’m stupid, and coudln’t make your dreams come true." 

and to finish it off, "I’m sorry for meeting you."

The ending to this is my favorite part, but it doesn't really have any relevance to the lines above... oh well. No one ever said poetry was perfect! 

"I want to start over, but I never even started."

Today in my writing class we had to write a Flash Fiction story between 6 and 10 words. It was based off of Ernest Hemingway's Flash Fiction story which goes, "For Sale: Baby shoes. Never worn." He made a bet with these other writer's that he could write a fictional story in six words. They didn't believe he could, and so they agreed to each pay him ten dollars. If he won, the revenue was his. If they won, he would match the price to each of the writers. He wrote his six-word Flash Fiction on a napkin and passed it around the table.

Ernest Hemingway became a few bucks richer that night.

The point of a Flash Fiction is to tell a story, but in an ambiguous way. It's supposed to leave you wondering, or have some sort of moral to it, but it's left to the reader to figure out.

So, I wrote mine: I want to start over, but I never even started.

One of the guys in my class laughed, and another girl said, "I like that!" My professor nodded and sort of looked confused. She's Polish; I'm not even sure she understood what I said.

I wasn't even fully sure what my Flash Fiction meant, but isn't that the point? It left me wondering, and I liked that. I also liked the fact that these words just flew out from my pen without even a thought controlling them. That, right there, is how I know I'm a writer.

I read a book by Stephen King my Junior year of high school entitled, "On Writing." He described how writing can be considered telepathic. The thought starts in your head and goes off your pen and onto the page to be communicated with whoever cares to read. I always found that interesting, and this exercise in class made me think of it. I didn't necessarily think of the Flash Fiction I wrote, it just sort of appeared, and it made its way to my paper.

What a concept.

The more I thought of what this meant and why it appeared, I thought of two situations.

1. I want to start college over, because I knew right off the bat this isn't where I was going to stay. It's sort of like getting into a relationship you know is going to end. And then it made me think of him. Ugh. He always told me how we wouldn't stay together when we went to college, but for some reason I thought I could convince him otherwise. Clearly, I was wrong. But, this lead me to my next thought.

2. I want to start over, but I never even started. It's like that longing to have someone but they don't even know you exist. You could be in love with them, and they have no idea. You wish you could start back at the beginning, but wait, there was never even a beginning at all. But this doesn't necessarily apply to me, not right now anyway. It did make me sort of wish I could start over with you-know-who, though. Except, instead of agreeing to hang out that night he asked me to, I would have started off by saying goodbye.

Maybe my Flash Fiction doesn't mean anything at all.

Get Outta Town

I went home this weekend, as I do every weekend, but this weekend was weird. I worked as usual, and opened on Saturday morning with Mary Ann. When I open with Mama Mary Ann, I work the front, so I deal with customers. I swear it was like every person I knew, that came in, was reprimanding me for being home.

"Paige! What are you doing home?!"
"Paige! How's college?" It's alright. "JUST ALRIGHT?! WHAT?! WHAT'S WRONG WITH IT?" Well, it's really expensive. "What did you think it was going to be cheap?"

No, I didn't. But I don't have a rich uncle or a rich anyone in my family. So excuse me for feeling a little overwhelmed and ill budgeted.

I mean Jesus. What, I graduate and suddenly I'm kicked out of town? It was embarrassing, to be honest. Everyone was acting like it was this huge deal. I felt a little judged and it just made me uncomfortable. It seemed like everyone was disappointed in the fact that I was home and not head over heels in love with Colby-Sawyer. I don't think a single one of those people regarded the fact that what I'm doing with my life is my business and none of theirs. And when I confronted my parents about it for advice, I didn't feel any comfort or ease at all.

My mom's response? Silence.
My dad's? "Well, Paige, I just think everyone expects you to be a little bit better than Franconia. If you came home, I'd feel incredibly sad for you because that means you're just stuck here and another kid who didn't do anything with their life." Thanks for the support, guys. And who's to say I would be "stuck" in Franconia? I happen to love Franconia. And he's one to talk, he never left.

You want the cold, hard, honest truth about what I want to do after this semester?

I want to take the semester off. I want to work, save up, and try to publish a book. I wanted to take a year off more than anything after I graduated, but everyone talked me out of it. I completely regret not doing that.

But, I probably will end up just taking out more student loans and going to PSU next semester, rather than next Fall, because everyone seems to frown upon the fact that I want to stay in town for a little while. And they either do not understand or do not believe me that I have no money to go to school right now.

"Paige, there's resources like scholarships and student loans!" I have a bunch of scholarships. I have scholarships up the ass, but it's still not enough. And student loans? Those aren't just numbers. So before I go dig myself a hole $60,000 deep, can I just have a minute to figure out what the hell I want to do with my life?!

I just wish everyone would back off. Just support me, and tell me what I want to do is okay. Tell me you're proud of me, so that I don't feel so guilty when I crawl back into Franconia every Friday night. I'm trying to grow up and do the right thing, but it's so hard when I constantly feel like I'm doing it wrong.

"How can you wish me the best when you've been nothing but the worst?" A Post About Love

"How can you wish me the best when you've been nothing but the worst?"

I overheard this being said to one of my roommates last night, and it made me think. Although that's a terrible thing to say somebody, what a clever line. And in a way I can relate. I've had countless breakups, which almost always result in me being the receptor, and feeling the familiar horrid feeling we all know too well.

All the sudden the rug's pulled out from underneath you, and it's like you suddenly can't breathe. The one person, one thing, you kept in the back of your mind with every decision you made, is suddenly gone. It's almost like an identity crisis. Abruptly, you're forced to reinvent yourself, and try and remember what it's like to be on your own; single. But then again, I think self-rejuvenation is such an important aspect to life. Stepping back and reassessing situations and personal being can be so beneficial.

But then again, it sucks too.

"Paige, you're going to meet someone so much better than me." I've heard it too many times before. I'm sure I'm going to meet someone better, but when did I say I wanted to?

"Paige, you're going to do so many great things in your life, and I don't want me to hold you back." I would never let you hold me back, don't give yourself that much credit. But your support meant something to me, and now I'm on my own again. I have to have my own back.

I hate putting my heart out there and giving it to someone because at this point in time, I know it's going to end. I am yet to find a guy my age willing to commit, and not to be so afraid of how big of a heart I have. But, I'd rather save all my love I can give for someone who cares enough to receive it, because it's been wasted far too many times on boys who change their minds.

And they always say the same thing too, "I wish nothing but the best for you, Paige."

How can you wish me the best when you've become nothing but the worst?

1-8; A Memoir

#1

This is where it all started. December 14th, 2005. I’m standing on the playground listening to my brand new iPod my dad gave me for my twelfth birthday six days earlier. Destiny Child’s new song Check On It was blaring through my headphones and I thought I was so cool. I pulled out lip gloss from my winter coat and applied it, the sound of the charm bracelet you gave me for my birthday was jingling as I glided the gloss across my mouth. I waited nervously for Hilary to run back to me telling me what you said in regards to my last response.

“He said he likes you too, and wants to go out with you,” Hilary said, sweat beading on her forehead from being the messenger for the past twenty minutes. I ripped the headphones from my ears to make sure I heard correctly.

“OH MY GOD,” I said back, wide eyed and excited, “Go tell him I say yes!” I saw Hil cringe at the idea of running all the way back across the playground, but being the loyal friend she was to us, she started running. When she returned with the news that it was completely official and everyone on the playground knew about it, I took off running and screaming at the top of my lungs in excitement. And then the bell rang and we all lined up to go back to class. You and I sat three desks away from each other. For the rest of the school day we didn’t speak to one another. We didn’t even look at each other.

That’s sixth grade for you.

Eleven days later I made you a CD for Christmas. You gave me nothing. But with only seven other boys in our grade I wasn’t giving you up any time soon. I guess I should point out this is probably my first mistake I made with a boy. I deserved a Christmas present. And you didn’t buy me one; you didn’t even make me a card. But, I swallowed my anger about it and just let it go. I shouldn’t have let it go.

Within the next six months, you and I talked on the phone a few times a week. I usually called you. To be honest, I don’t remember a time that you called me. I’d call that mistake number two. You should have called me. And instead of giving in and calling you, I should have saved my efforts for somebody else and told you goodbye. But I didn’t.

In all actuality, I only consider you to be #1 because of one thing; one date.

My first kiss; June 6th, 2006.

Our class took a field trip to Boston, and on the way home you put your arm around me on the bus. I remember becoming ultra aware of the warmth of your hand on my back, but it made my stomach do somersaults and my head feel light. I liked it. And just when I thought it couldn’t be any better, it did.

“I had a really great time with you today,” you said in the darkness.

“I did too,” I told you back.

“Paige...”

“What?” I froze.

“I love you.” Yes, we were twelve. Was it love? I don’t think so. But at the time I didn’t know what love was, and when someone says they love you, you believe them.

“I love you too,” I said back, after my heart started beating again. “It’s funny you said that,” I told you, “because I was just thinking that.”

“Wanna know what I was thinking?” This caught me off guard.

“What?” And then you did it. You leaned over, and pressed your lips against mine for two whole seconds. One Mississippi, Two Mississippi. I opened my eyes and the lights on the bus came on. My jaw dropped. I must have looked pretty stupid sitting there with my jaw basically on the floor and no words coming out of my mouth, but I couldn’t help it. You took my breath away.

That was our first, and only kiss. There was nothing monumental that occurred between us after this. Even though at the time I figured I would marry you, we broke up a few months later and never spoke much again throughout middle and high school. But, if for some reason you’re reading this, thank you for the kiss.

This is an excerpt from the book I am currently working on entitled 1-8. It is a memoir of each boy who has had a significant impact on me. There will be no names included in this story, but if you know me well enough, you know exactly who this is about. 

I'd Like to Work for Hallmark Some Day...

"I could show you the world if you let me,
I would take your hand and hold it steady.
I'd pick you up when you were down,
I'll tuck you in safe and sound.
I'll hold your hand if you reach for mine,
I'd make this work if you just gave me the time.
I will make you happy every day,
All is possible if you'd just stay."

-2010

"I'm lying here in the comfort of my own bed,
With thoughts of you running through my head.
Wondering, if you're wondering."
-2010


"It's like a stab in my stomach,
And a slap to my heart,
Just keep in mind,
You had me in the start."
-2010


That's all for tonight. I suppose I was much more creative in 2010... I need some inspiration for new poetry. Maybe a boy won't break my heart for once and I'll actually have reason to write happy stanzas that I can send to Hallmark. But for now, boys suck.

Transferring in the Middle of a Transition

I started college exactly sixteen days ago. So far from being there, I've figured out a few things:

1. I love college. I love the classes, I love being treated like a human being, I love hanging out in my dorm with my girls, and I love the fruity pebble rice crispy treats they make in the dining hall!

2. I miss home. I miss my sister, my mom, and my dad, but most of all I miss my work. When I'm at Mojo's, everything is okay. I am smiling, laughing, and making money. What is better than that? Nothing. Mary Ann, Joe, and Anthony are my family. They are the kin I was meant to have and didn't receive until fifteen years into my life. I don't like being away from them. It keeps me up at night and makes me feel sad. Especially when all I want is a pumpkin muffin from the store and I have to drive an hour to get it. But you know what? I do. Every penny of gas is worth that warm embrace I receive from them when I step foot in the little kitchen in the back, and when I sink my teeth into that delicious, moist, sweet, amazing pumpkin muffin, nothing could be more satisfying. I have everything I need and want when I'm at the store, and when I'm at school, I miss out on that. I have a hole in my heart where they belong. It's a hard hurdle to overcome.

3. I'm broke. I'm in way over my head in expenses, and I'm a little scared about what I've gotten myself into. Not everyone my age fully understands this, because it's their parent's names on the Student Loan checks. Guess which name is signed on mine? Miss Paige Olivia Roberts. United State's Government, thanks for the ten grand! I'll get it back to ya when I'm famous.

4. I need to be closer. I thought that as long as I was in New Hampshire, I'd be close enough to home. I was wrong. An hour and fifteen minutes is too far for me. Deciding what I truly want in my heart hasn't been an issue. I want to pack up and go be where I feel safe and accepted. It's more of the decision about what I need that has been an internal battle for the past two and a half weeks. I need to stay in school, but I'm too antsy to not become anxious awaiting the end of my 1:45 class on Fridays so I can go home. So, I've come to a happy median.

5. I'm transferring to Plymouth State University. Plymouth is approximately 35 minutes from Franconia. It's a small campus, like I want, and it has what I want to pursue: Criminal Justice, as well as and English department, with a focus in writing. And best of all, it's just a short drive away from where my heart lies; Mojo's.

Some of you might say I didn't give Colby-Sawyer enough of a chance, but if you know me at all, you know I have one hell of an intuition. This is my gut feeling. And honestly, I'm not going to listen what everyone else says I should do, so don't bother telling me. I'll throw you the middle finger and say, "See ya!" This is my life, and I love the fact that I have so many choices and chances to do anything I want. Right now is the time where I can switch colleges, switch majors, and switch locations. So don't go and shit your pants thinking that I'm going to drop out of school, because that isn't the case. I already told you in #1 that I love college. I just don't love where I am.

So banking on my pending acceptance into PSU, I will soon become a Panther and say adios to the Chargers. And then again, I always liked cats far more than horses, so maybe it was meant to be from the beginning and I just didn't know it yet. Meee-ow!

Why am I Doing This?

First posts are always the hardest ones to write. I can never think of an appropriate way to start them off, so I usually end up just jumping into them like I am right now. If you're reading this, it's either because you're bored, care about me, or want to know about me. So for all the nosey ones, I will fulfill your needs.

My name is Paige. I'm currently in my first year of college. I am a Creative Writing major, but I recently have decided to switch to a Criminal Justice major with a minor in Writing. But, I am considering double majoring in the two. My favorite color is green. I don't have a boyfriend, but that will change eventually. You can usually find me on top of a mountain, center stage, or curled up in my bed! I would classify myself as a workaholic, and I love it.

You might be wondering why I'm starting a blog in the first place, especially with the stress of college and life, in general. Well, I'm doing this because I want a place to post my thoughts, my poetry, and maybe if you're lucky I'll post some sections from the stories I'm working on. And yes, the 's' on the end of stories was on purpose because I have about six started, and only one finished.

I appreciate feed-back and constructive criticism, so bring it on.