Blue Bird

By: Bekah Turney

Sharp chills. Cheeks a crimson pink. I walk to the door, break from the chill and pool into the prickling warm. Dead bird in the doorstep, cold, hard. I scoop you in my trembling palms and feel your yearn for heat from inside. You dreamed, waited in longing, and then you slowly faded away. We walk together to the oak tree and I place you in its protruding roots, cradling you in as its own. I lay you on the side to reflect into the lake. We talk, and I tell you of how special you were- that you must have surely been. Goodbye sweet freedom of your pale blue wings. You fly now into the lines of the tree.

Image by: Lavery ART


Wrapped in darkness

I sit,

Painted into the night.

Fragments of air so thick

I can taste the stars

That break what shadows hide.

Isolated depths between

Land and sky,

Bleeds hot of its illusionary tales.

It seems cold and mischievous.

Twinkles of light in the sky

That tickle the fantasy of

A warm kindled fire.

Bursts of light that

Turn to flame-

Swift smiles of a lying face.

I dig into your trenches of


Where you burn and

That of me,

Sweet, hungry embers,

Are not far.

Like how you lied with me in

Torture of your pain.

Torment of your touch that crept

Over the top of my naked waist,

Skin soft, and calloused palms that grazed.

Finger pressed upon the lips of my heart

To hush the sound of pain we

Both now share.

I see your light,

Distant and out of reach,

Yet still consuming the empty


Of a soul’s entrapment that which

Could not express.

Cold but wrapped in warm cloth.

I Walk The Streets Alone At Night

Poem by: Bekah Turney

I feel my teeth

Sturdy in my gums,

For decades they’ve sat.

Tonight they illuminate

With noise through tingles.

Glistening eyes and an urgent mind.

Walk down dark streets,

Hands tucked warm in my pockets.

Late at night I squabble

In solitude I find,

My feet carry alone,

And nothing has come to bite.

I carry a corn poker

In my right pocket.

First thing I could find,

Like I needed to use it at all.

I feel the repel of anything

That comes to detriment,

But also my abuse

Of knowledge’s leverage I hold

On these midnight squanders

Gains a peace of mind.

This town grows thin of safety,

But I push its limits

To find the sanity of hope

And what’s left of its humanity-

The meaning of all that lies behind.

I torment the thought,

Come find me-

But the street stretches long

With sorrow’s empty halls.

Halls I walk alone.

And I ponder what it is

I am searching for.

I provoke the un-provokable-

A force unmet by my hungry eyes.

Give me something to rally off of,

As I wander the streets at night.

They rest inside warm tucked away,

With nothing but another day

They tended.

And I, the one who has unmet agendas

Blames the duties of my day,

Again to others who have their own


I, the one who’s floating,

Much to give

But has been un-attended.


Photograph from:; by: Hannah Brookes Olsen.

Brown Berry Girl

“Beautiful brown berry girl.

She’s so beautiful.”

As I awoke each morn,

An expectation of excellence.

I dance, I eat and I grow plump.

Don’t tell me my beauty fades,

I never thought so.

Magic in my core

A yearning for a rift in the world

A difference to be made.

My confidence was built.

Smug and aware,

But with rich talent seeping through my

Screaming gut.

I am more-

Than the cheeks that were pinched,

The “round mound of sound,”

Though I much enjoyed hearing those words.

‘Twas the day grandma lie in the

Hospital bed,

Kidneys failing,

I stood, growing in width and height,

The one person that changed my life

Told me I’m not the most

Beautiful thing she had seen.

“You’re beautiful, but not the most.”

You saved me from a delusional fate.

You gave me peace

Showed me a shocking truth

And put me in tears.

That’s all I ever wanted.


It’s like we are back in the hot tub under the cold black sky, clouds that hover atop our exploding heads. Cold trickles of rain float down kissing our exposed skin. Crisp winter air like a new babe drifting into this new season, never stops growing. Energies wildly suckling at our grins in this inevitable flow, we shed, we become new, alive and full, endless cultivating love we share. I lay now, warm in my bed, secure and at home, and it reminds me of how the water wrapped us up like this blanket here, defying the cold that entraps this night air, inviting us three, in the water floating like fetuses in the womb. Pure, new and evolving. Friends, for now or forever, moments that are infinite.

Image by: Jessica Sharmin for Stocksy Inited

My Legacy

Men are my weakness.

I feel it in my deepest of my emotions

That I need you,

But no, I don’t.

So I sit and see,

See where I’ve been and why

That you seem to be my resolution

To who I am.

Comfort of the soft couch cushion

Lied beneath me as I lay

And fell asleep.

Music of your band that blared in

My ears and I rested like a baby wrapped in 100% cotton.

Because you’re my dad and I look

Up to who you are to shape my life.

Now I talk,

And talk is cheap,

To these men that I feel can heal me

Of the revelry that you faced,

As you stared straight at a life predicament

Of following your dreams

Or flourishing a family.

It’s okay, I never understood

As I was the third child.

But I felt the vibrant hand you wielded

As you strummed your guitar.

Sitting tapping rhythms to your drum,

Your hand spun the stories I wanted to hear,

Fingers that picked at emotions that

I always wanted to know,

Because honesty was what I wanted.

But now I look again,

And it’s at the heart’s impulsive whim.

And I wonder when it ends.

Music is in my bloodstream

And I don’t know where it ends.

It’s a sickness of emotion I can’t understand.

I hear your voice sing through

The chords of my throat,

Because it never reached heights that it wanted,

And now I feel responsible.

Conversations With Herself

I see her walking down the street,

Rambling on of how she has no shower now

That ‘he’ once let her use.

Carrying a metal rod I

Can only assume why

With this imagination,

That could be anything.

But that is not what matters

As I watch her walk in haste,

Down the street lit by the lamps,

So dim

And at her wits end.

Insane it seems

But I see freedom in her bones

As she breaks free

To a cycle she has yet to face.

Where will she go? I wonder.

And I envy the steps she takes.

Impulses And My Sanity

I don’t want to write for just anyone.

But yet I want everyone to see.

My writings are unique to me,

Not made for cliche publicity.

But as I move on and spread the ink across these pages,

I want to make a difference

And create a life that brings in wealth

And a stable way of being.

I say I buy my “last” pack of cigarettes,

But are they?

So much regret,

As I light the tip

Of what I thought was at its end.

Hiding in the corner

Where not one person can find,

With my thoughts that are only to my detriment.

‘Don’t tell me what I already know.’

But the knowing is what eats me alive.

Let’s Get Down To The Truth

You ever just feel the judgements present from others? Does it irk you, because you feel it is unjust? Even if what you’re doing is blasphemous to yourself, you wonder why it matters so much to others who stay contemplatively silent near you, knowing, feeling what they are thinking toward you? You start to begin wondering if it is your own guilt. And that is completely true, it could be you. But do you ever take a second to recognize if your gut is true, and you feel certain inklings for a reason?

It’s completely relevant these feelings we get, because we are all connected. We all judge people, our passerby’s, whether we know it or not. Through our own experience and whole life in this time through programming of “right and wrong.” Why it matters so much to others around us of our well being, and why we depend so much on that opinion is the case. Why?

Because like I said, we all ARE connected. We ARE here to depend upon each other for support. We’re not meant for personal isolation like we have been taught. We’re not meant to fear rejection or judgement from those around us. And that’s where lies the problem. We are so afraid of being hurt. And all we want as human beings is to be understood. And in that lies the answer of how we should start being vulnerable. Not because we can possibly get hurt, but that we can persevere through all the programmed bullshit of this global isolation that has been ingrained in our beings.

We encounter others in this life for a reason, and it is beautiful. But it’s time to start questioning, why? Of how we can break down the truth of why, and how, and where- for the reason simply to evolve in harmony. Not alone.

This is the time to be set free of everything that has been said to be, and live truly to how we feel inside. No one can tell you who you are and who you’re meant to be. That is fact. And that fact is yours. We aren’t alone. But we ARE uniquely in sync.

Ones’ Own Thought

Yes, I drink for the hard days.

I smoke through the delusion of

Daily programmed thoughts,

Because I know there is more.

Even if you say it,

And I know what is good for me,

There is something unfolding beneath

That no one could possibly know

But me.

The main thing that matters

Is the art that is formed through revelation

That only I can experience,

And that you relate to through your own suffering.

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