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.

Image by: nalunprice.wordress.com

Elusive Love Notes

I feel all of you slip away.

All that I feel so deeply for.

I love you.

And it always will be this way.

I love you as deeply as my bones

Are dense.

Tingling through

To the aches of the winter’s lonely chill,

To the warm embracing sun.

It was never all for not.

And though I chose to be where I am

I hope not to lose you.

But if I do l, I know,

The times we danced were of great significance.

The gift I received

Was seeing your beautiful smile.

Teeth poking through your lips

That press together a lot.

It played music in my eyes,

Even now,

And it was real.

The Writer

I’ve spent 27 years collecting

Little notes,

And held them tightly to my chest.

Proud of who I was and

The new I always become.

Even as I lay on the ground

Where the debris of stones I stacked

To rebuild again a home,

Crushed me into the earth

That broke again like the

First time I ruffled its soil.

The smile I had then as the sun warmed

My vibrant cheeks,

Now a gaping mouth choking on tears.

I cannot move to find the paper

Written all through time.

The sacred parchments of my heart,

I left to waste and blow away from this

Repeated crash of fate,

Not able to face their glowing light

That turned to failure after time.

My heart aches and I have empty hands.

Totems everywhere, I fear to reach

That I may rip open the cage

In which protects my heart,

As boulders lie atop me.

One Last Cigarette

I feel my hands this eve,

As they in the past

Have labored many loves.

Loves I thought,

At the time,

Could heal and mend me from all forms of captivity.

Captivity I fear,

And free is where I dream to be.

That dream that has pulled me in,

Time and time again-

But now, on only my two feet I stand,

Young mouths I nurture and bleed to feed,

With no love there anymore to take me in between.

I see the rippling change ,

And clarity of where healing truly lies.

It was never “him,”

But always me.

He that was there,

But I, only to take then and chew,

And spit out in the mouths of little babes.

Alas, now, I know this isn’t me.

Nor who I was ever meant to be.

This clarity that ruthlessly unfolds,

To show certain vision in my eye

And plunge me further to my destiny.

‘Tis now a reminder

Of day to day, I cling,

A symbol I drew of independence,

A plea of what I want so desperately.

I wished, but now I see,

Whilst inhaling this cigarette,

Of countless turns, this one that cannot

Be numbered from its many draws-

The hundreds of its multicolored nights.

Drawing in the cycles of its many men

And bringing only recolection of

Familiar suffering.

-To now, I see

The thing I must let go,

The dog’s tail of this chapter’s close.

These fingers shake as they tighten grasp

Of the cigarette that never was the lie,

But the lie I imbued upon the tip

Of its lightened end.

The red eye I spun a fiction,

Of a man that could fill my integrity.

But alas, I know,

And now I do let go.

This one thing that can free me

From my ultimate captivity-

The invigorating smoke I take

Was not a man, but a yearning for

A chance to see,

And break through to my infinite strength

I always wished to seek.

Person and the Staff

I wear the expression of silly. Silly is who I seem to be. Yet also sweet, serious, curious compassionate, frightfully untamable and even filled with rage. A great woman who enjoys the deepest parts of how to feel. I’ve climbed to the depths of where emotions are born. Maybe that seems passionate and driven for a purpose to fulfill. Or maybe it seems scared, afraid to numb the parts that make me human, if I haven’t done that already. I understand the aspect of neutrality. It’s powerful, balanced and holds the wisest understanding. A woman standing in all of her power. It would be the healthiest and most uplifting way to lead her life- lead life with her fellow people and the two children at her side.

I crave the understanding of pain, of happiness and the way a person thinks. To play out their emotions as they experience them, embracing all aspects of the human consciousness, our human day to day lives. I pierce the veil where delusion lies to pull the fellow friend out from the ashes. I love the suffering as if it were my own. I crave to feel the life we live, and maybe it’s because I don’t know how to live my own. I hold a torch to draw moth to the flame, and when they ask me where I stand my response always lies, with them. Maybe I’m afraid to be this person, as real as life ever is for all of us.

“Don’t worry about me.” A woman with rods stacked on her back, to feel the reality she lacks. Maybe I’m afraid of power, a rippling fear of eternal life’s spring in my gut. A fear of being brave enough to grip the staff that wields my magic and hold all of my self up, to face the treacherous and magnificent life we all endure.

I always craved the roots that others bear. They wear their badges to show their individuality no matter what the cost. And they own their choice no matter where their morals lie, they honor who they are. Even if who they are is always changing, perfecting old badges and adding some new ones throughout their time. Always owning up to the journey of the unfoldment in their lives.

I feel the clock of our time here click, it ticks along as skin grows thin. As the wrinkles tell of life that fades and so much more to understand. But as the tables turn, as they always do and spin around, they move to destinations where mystery is always met and found with every emotion I crave to feel. But precise measure of the clock that ticks, it is mine- the staff I’ve laden in your hands for almost all my life.

Reality seems so treacherous- the logic and reasoning of the inevitable “fate and demise,” but sadly of what I, what we’ve created. What I’d give to feel that staff and I intertwined. Let this insanity be mine. It makes the most sense, and I, my world with me, are mine. I twirl and sing along, my “wicked” song with the wind, a crazy, blasphemous tale I spin. But I seek to find the answers that are always there in plain sight, readily there and always told. Ready, if I let them in.

My Mother, Myself

By: Bekah Turney

My eye grows lazy in thought.

You told me about your fear of cockroaches,

I laughed with no idea.

I sit in silence,

But everything moves,

Nothing Stops.

Covering my ears,

I scream for quiet that should be here.

That’s when I knew

Exactly what you meant.

That moment your lip curled in disgust.

They crawl on and around me,

As they did you.

And I see clearly

The chaos we consume

And learn to persevere through.

Behind the Glass

“Enjoying the Pleasures of the Night” painting by: Fabian Perez
poem by: Bekah Turney

Chumming it up with old friends,
They sit inside behind the glass,
Whiskey shots to tie loose ends.
Throwing money around
To pay their unintended tabs.

Throwing it all down,
Down the pipe, let’s raise a glass.
More for the broken hearted,
‘Cause the pain of life ain’t like a flask
We hide inside our bags.

I sit out here looking in,
Hand on the cold black tabletop,
Dark as the night that invites me in.
Loud silence.
Swelling smiles reflect off lights in your cacoon.
Refounding hearts that speak
And give no sound.

Bitter drips off of your lips
That speak for what is misconstrued.
‘Cause the soul can’t put at stake
The pain we dread to feel,
And force the beaming upward grin
To blind us from what’s real.

So I raise my watered whiskey
To sing the tune of life that tries
And pulls us to our ends.
The song of what we all endure,
The endless rattling cage,
Spilling our cups out of
Rusty cells we build
With intent to keep it hidden
In this ever spinning wheel.

Little Irene

by: Bekah Turney

Her eyes welled up with tears

And cried along-

A tune to Phoenix’ song

Of ripping away the past.

That’s what she knows

Through all her years.

Sweetness in her gaze

Beyond her age, could see

Of love’s bitter departure,

That rang familiar ripples on her

Supple cheeks.

Knowledge swarming through her veins

Of endings,

Waiting for her vague recall

Of sun to shine

And prevail

Against the constant rain.

Still Summer Nights

By: Bekah Turney

I sit alone again in the dark.

The trees are lit by a dim lit lamp.

And a soft hum of its dying light

Echoes a song of comfort-

Tales of a young girl on still summer night’s.

Molecules of the air only broken by

The gentle sound,

Of words whispered through my bones-

Waiting to be spoken,

Waiting to be unhinged.

From these desperate lips I set a bargain,

Quarreling both heart and mind.

To reach an understanding,

A balance that peace can flow and bind

These sobbing opposing ends

To meet another in kind.

My muscles shake as fatigue consumes

And devours my restless hold

Of what I should let go,

Of what I have no control.

Blisters break and knuckles crack

As the soap is lathered to it’s core.

Wash away the truth

That watches me as I wake,

Watches as I place the shell over my soul.

Alas this tale is old

And I see the young girl on her stoop

Listening to the hum of dying lights

On still summer night’s.

And ask her kindly how to find her heart again.

Cause she was free, and she was me. And

Her freedom I see within.

Now reunited with a long forgotten friend.


image by: Kostiantyn Kuznetsov