Our Platform by Paige Collins

I’d love nothing more but to go back a couple of steps in life to the days where our biggest concerns were waiting on the street lights turning on, or not allowing new shoes to get dirty. When you had a boyfriend or had a girlfriend they’d say goodbye on the Friday and you’d see them on the Monday.

Throughout time we’ve slowly yet surely transformed into robots, we’re all satirical yet the system’s tyrannical and we don’t even have our own thoughts. Ego’s are fed with a double tap and people only care for shaping their persona, which alone is fake with mistakes to make and likes only being the eudaemonia

I cannot determine what is true or false nor can I bare to witness it all. I see kids who are fifteen living as sweet dream on twitter but not in school halls. I’m massively concerned for the wellbeing of our society and the dependency we have for the net, which catches us by the ankle and drags us around til there’s nothing left.

I refuse to believe things will change, I know people are bored with their lives, skip the dating skip the build up, let’s go on tinder and look for our wives.

I’m sad for my brother who missed all the fun and didn’t worry about having a phone, the field was our platform the social was ourselves and what we could SEE was only our home.


Oh Pangea by Paige Collins

It feels as though I’m stuck between these walls walls thick enough to cut me deep
To cut me to the extent I feel like I am drowning
Drowning in my own sea, that I built for myself
For myself!
I’m a half alive doll left on the shelf and
you people,
You people are my ventriloquists

I can’t betray my loneliness
Or pretend it does not exist
As it lingers around filling my head
my poor old head, with memories so dead
I don’t mean recently put to bed
I mean…
Anne frank dead

I’m better off in Pangea, 300 million years ago
With nobody to torture me, ridicule me nowhere to run or hide
Or cry
Or fail
Or wonder
Or suffer
Or even be
Oh Pangea, take me home

Social Media by Paige Collins

I have roughly 500 friends on facebook

15 % i actually know

So why have i accepted their request?

It’s sort of, just how it goes


Social Media is disappointing

Most of the time i’m online

Timehop holds pictures considered haunting

scene wean paige, not a good time


Honestly though, sometimes i get sad

and feel like i’m a ghost

“paige collins posted she’s feeling bad”

There’s a comment from my gran at most


Don’t get me wrong, it’s not always shit

There’s still many pro’s to the internet

But your laptop’s infected with viruses!

So google is that a threat?


But i really don’t like feeling inadequate

In comparison to everyone else

These posts are usually inaccurate

You’re not on the beach counting shells


What i’m implying is that a lot is untrue

People post things, in attempt to impress you

To show off their lives and what they can do

But remember people, that it’s not

Always true


I’m not saying don’t post that you’re having lunch

Or showing off your writing

I’m not saying don’t post that you’re having fun

Or what you’ve recently found exciting


“ just had a red wine, caviar, now watching netflix with my sweetheart”

That’s not realistic, you’re having chips and cheese

But whatever, let’s call it art


So don’t feel useless or isolated or pish

When it comes to everyone else

Half the time they’re just like you

Fairly bored with books on the shelf

I’d truly be in bits by Paige Collins

I’m in another world now, suitcase of memories by my side
Locked away and ready to dispose
These fears, i can no longer hide

The first day of primary i remember so clearly, what it felt like to be unsatisfied
The girls the boys they laughed away
Whilst in the corner of the playground, i cried

I’ve always tried to be myself, to love and stay audacious
Yet i still remember everything
Despite the old times being cretaceous

They sent me off to Wellington to potentially change my ways
Believe it or not, i was just the same

I still had attitude but with passion so pure
And wouldn’t let anyone know my name

I played violin and pretended to love hockey
But at lunch i wrote stories
Who on earth wants to be a jockey?
A school of fucking tories

These girls around me were full of shit, falseness and pretentiousness
Yet i knew myself i was full of whit and in touch with my consciousness

Leaving that school taught me a few lessons
Money doesn’t matter
After a million secret OT sessions
I discovered my own patter

My own patter being my writing
Which was inspired purely by growing
I didn’t believe in hate or fighting
Gran said i was gifted without knowing

Anyway i’ve had some dark days, days i felt it was over
From cocaine and speed to legal highs, an experienced self loather
I can’t do the ins the outs and the stories in detail
As i’ve almost filtered them away
I’m still quite useless but will prevail
And today’s the day i’ll say

All those years of social services, overdoses and cries for help
Began to feel like normality, a way of life
Yet every night, my little self whelped

It’s been a hell of a ride, a tough time indeed
Got my heart broken too, my ex did succeed
I will not cry tonight, i shall simply read
Verses from my poems, for those in absolute need

From waking up on a Sunday morning with a feeling of self worthlessness
Broken bottles, fag doubts and an empty gram bag
I’m sure we know the extent of a bad way this is

I read the papers tonight that the social work sent me through
In an absolute state i ripped them up, fuck you all, fuck you!
But the day came when Lynn said she knew that i was someone new
And she no longer had to help me, but what she said was true

I wish her truly the best of luck, working with someone else
I take back what i said Lynn
You don’t belong on a dusty shelf

The stabilisers are off my bike, and now i’m flying down the hill
There’s absolutely nothing around me
But faith, strength and good will

Hell of a ride would be an understatement
And i’m only 17 years in
I guess we can call this life experience
And now i know, there’s no evil within

Just curiosity not monstrosity
The desire to learn from this
If i could measure the velocity
The generosity
I’d truly be in bits


Paige Collins is 17 and has just started to write seriously about her experiences. She wrote this poem after parting ways with Social Services.