Paige Ryan

The absurdity of working for a mental health org that talks “well-being” while actively eroding it for employees.

Friendly reminder that it’s a privilege to gain another year, and to invite age to show itself on your body.

Friendly reminder that it's a privilege to be able to set an intention.

The Woman With Thrifted Flamingo Earrings On giving each other a home.

On giving each other a home.

Sky Wrapped in Bow The physics of comfort (or: more gifts)

Sharing this the day after Christmas feels right. Not a “holiday poem,” but a post-holiday poem—for the quieter hours, the softened nerves, the kind of comfort that’s always there, and the reminder that the giving never stops. It just lowers its voice.
(Hope the holidays are treating everyone well!)

Mouth-Noise Because this time of year is a lot for our brains.

On days when thinking feels impossible.

Nobel Prize in Literature 1996 The Nobel Prize in Literature 1996 was awarded to Wisława Szymborska "for poetry that with ironic precision allows the historical and biological context to come to light in fragments of human reality"

If the timing weren’t so uncanny, I’d question why it took me so long to read my favorite poet’s Nobel lecture.

“Whatever inspiration is, it’s born from a continuous ‘I don’t know.’” — W.S.

Permission to not convert everything into certainty. To keep the work alive by staying curious.

The Day You Dried Oranges Because one day will be your last, and you'll be happy.

First time adding a recording of me reading a poem and it feels like a big deal??? Somehow more vulnerable than the poem itself?? Be kind 🙈😅

"Your Life in Parties" by Amber Sparks "...your retirement party, the one they threw for you at the atrocious Italian restaurant. Surprise!, they all yell, which is so awkward because this isn’t a surprise party...."

This story by @ambersparks.bsky.social is BRILLIANT. Sharp, witty lines that tug hard on a feeling, then abruptly cut it loose before moving on to the next. I’m not even mad about how it plays with my heart, because it’s a thrill—I’m feeling a hundred things at once—and I’m absolutely here for it.

POV: using poetry to trick yourself into feeling something other than what you’re actually feeling 😅

I Write Because I write because the world cracks me open

I love how a why can age—how you can look at it years later and see all it's been through.

Would love to connect with others on Substack. Read my latest post here and follow along for more:

substack.com/@paigeryan/n...

One could argue that the best part about writing is stumbling upon the past selves you’ve forgotten.

How to Steep a Winter Leaves of last year’s trees

In case the news is a little much, here’s a tender poem to read instead.

Fall in haiku.

People need to stop saying “I didn’t eat all day” as if it’s proof of work ethic.

It’s not ambition. It’s proof of a system that taught you to confuse self-neglect with dedication. And call it professionalism.

(Wild how eating lunch during the workday still feels like a rebellion.)

This addition to my dining room. Never underestimate the power of a cool light source.

“Never be sad when you can be funny instead—unless you can be funny and sad, which is even better. Slipping on a banana peel? Hilarious. Slipping on a banana peel while already downtrodden? Art.”

Finally, a sentiment I can get behind 😅

Death, dressed in its Sunday best. Painted in watercolor. Served almost sweet.

Jenny George’s collection stuns in its balance—heavy / light, above / below, grief / grace.

Words that have been marinated for 30+ years must be read! (Just ordered your book and am very much looking forward to reading it 🙃)

Cuuuute

lol this vibe is unmatched

The curse of being a poet is: every word is guilty until proven innocent 🤔 😅

Writing poems is just: uses word I’ve known forever → panics → googles definition.

The Good Whale This is the story of a wildly ambitious science experiment to return Keiko to the ocean — while the world watched. A new limited podcast series from Serial Productions and the New York Times.

I’m not sure where or if this fits within the defined categories but this was really engaging:

www.nytimes.com/interactive/...

Quite possibly my favorite philosophical question to date 😂

I am right there with you!

I picked strawberries last weekend, and halfway through the field—I had a moment.

Here’s a poem about remembering what joy tastes like 🍓

“…I eat another, then another, again and again, each more ferociously than the last…”