This is the first poem I’ve been able to write since I started this cancer journey back in March, chemo brain is real ! enjoy !
Over the last month this blog has been left to the wayside and I apologize for that. Unfortunately I have been unable to post due to serious medical issues. In the coming months I will be undergoing treatment and I can’t promise regular posts. Just know I will try my best to keep this blog running and my partner Turner will do her best as well. Thank you for understanding that life is real and it doesn’t always agree with what we want to do sometimes, but we do our best to make it work.
Peace and love,
So it seems that along with the blizzarding cold and various personal problems that January brought with it, it also blessed Turner and I with severe writer’s block. My poetry well has run dry and Turner’s story weaving has halted.
We’re hoping to shake this when the warmer weather starts defrosting February and along with it, hopefully our creativity. Thanks for hanging with us through the dry spell this blog has been experiencing!
Here’s to a fresh start.
“I may be a criminal, but leaving her behind is by far my worst transgression to date.”
-A snippet from our currently work in progress. Coming soon!
December brings with it the end of a year, and I woke up this morning feeling an overwhelming urge to reveal who Turner Collins really are, to put an end to the secret. My best friend and I began writing together three years ago, but writing under the pseudonym a year and a half ago, back when we started this blog. We were new at the whole writing thing and we wanted to post without judgement. Sharing our work with you, our blog followers, has boosted our confidence in both ourselves, and the things we create. With your support, we took the plunge and self-published a novel.
At this point in our journey, we feel secrecy will only hold us back. We want to grow and move forward in an effort to be able to connect with you all in a more personal way. So with all that being said, we would like to introduce you to the girls behind Turner Collins.
Hello, my name is Tracey and I make up the Turner part of Turner Collins. I’m 23 and live in Calgary, Alberta. I am responsible for the Jacob pieces that you find on the blog as well as many of the short stories. Okay, and maybe a poem or two, however they don’t hold a candle to the resident poetry buff, Collins. I have been writing since I was able to hold a pen. When I was younger, I went through something very traumatic that I dealt with through writing. It started as journalistic pieces, well, as journalistic as a ten year old could get. Talking about the world and current events, learning as much as I could. Once I got into high school it turned into fleshed out novels and stories. Characters have always come naturally to me, they talk to me until I finally get them out into the world.
Other than writing, I have been doing photography since I was fifteen years old and received my first camera. I am an avid movie buff and read a book daily. I am no good at art, but I love looking at it. Music is a huge part of my life and it aids in most of my writing. There is a soundtrack for each piece and book that we’ve ever written on my IPhone.
In 2012, I started a job where I met my best friend and writing partner, Christina. One day, I decided to throw an idea her way: “Why don’t we write a book together?” By the end of that day, we had an entire novel plotted and ready to write. Five finished books and many, many story ideas later, here we are. Collins and I are both big fans of lists, so here is one with points about me.
-I enjoy museums and historical sights
-I have tattoos as well as piercings and plan to get more
-Some of my favorite movies are: Moulin Rouge, The Outsiders, and Life (The movie about James Dean)
-It’s my life mission to see all my favorite bands
-I want to travel
-I was a theater kid and did a bit of acting. As well as written and directed plays.
Hello, my name is Christina, and I make up the Collins part of Turner Collins. I’m 22 and live in Calgary, Alberta. I’m responsible for most of the poetry you find on this blog. I’ve always written, but it wasn’t until high school that I really began recording my feelings. I developed horrendous anxiety that made every day a painful struggle. The only way I found to cope was with pen and paper. Shortly after high school ended I began a new job, where I met my best friend and writing partner. The rest as they say is history.
Surprisingly there is more to me than writing, I’m also an avid photographer, macro and portraiture being my favourite things to capture. I paint a ton, generally watercolor or another medium I like to call ‘organic painting.’
I could go on and write paragraphs upon paragraphs, but let’s be honest, bullet points are the best. Here’s a few facts to get to know me really quick:
– I’m a huge history buff
– My top three favourite movies are: The Warriors, Logan’s Run, and Raising Arizona
– I could spend days inside antique shops
– I impulsively get it in my head that I must learn something new and follow through. Last year it was juggling, this year it’s ukulele.
– Indie music and k-pop are and will forever be my obsessions
– I’m the descriptive type, adding enough description to Turner’s dialogue to drive her nuts!
– As you can tell by the number of bullets I chose to include, my favourite number is 7
Now that that big reveal is out of the way, we’re excited to go forward and share ourselves with all of you. In putting faces to the name, we hope to connect with you all on another level. We all feel, hurt, experience joy, fall, get back up. Our hope is that our work resonates with at least one person.
This idea came to in a dream so I just sat down for ten minutes and this poured out. I’m really excited to explore this.
When I was fifteen, I had to make a choice. A big choice, a life changing one. Not just for me, but for the life of the little one I had grown for the last nine months.
“Are you sure this is what you want to do, Josie?” My mother asked, gripping my hand so tight it lost feeling. I know she wanted me to keep the baby, to raise it. But, I wasn’t ready. I was still a child myself, I couldn’t give this child what it deserved. A family, support and stability. I could see the tears starting to build in my mother’s blue eyes. Her lip trembled and her breathing had picked up. I didn’t want to break my mother’s heart as well, but I’d already made up my mind. It took me that moment, with only a week left til my due date, to get to this office.
I looked up to Mrs. Talbot’s soft eyes, she had been my rock through all of this, not pressuring me. Always being understanding. She was the director of the adoption agency I decided to go with. She found the best family to take my baby, to give it the things I wasn’t able to. Marcus, the baby’s father, was out of the picture. He was older than me, and the moment he found out how old I really was and what had happened, he split. Never to be heard from again. I had grown up without a father as well and I would never wish that on my baby. I rested my hand on my large belly, feeling the dips and rolls as the little one fought for room inside my under developed body.
“It’s alright, Josie. This is all up to you, everything is in your hands.” I know Mrs. Talbot was trying to be supportive, but that comment cut me to the quick. I picked up the blue pen that was resting in front of me. I gripped it so hard it nearly shot across the room. The moment I brought the tip down on the line that would officially release me of my baby, my mother broke down. Her sobs wracking her body.
“I’m sorry, I can’t…I just…” With that, she took off, out of the room to who knows where. I wanted to comfort her, she had been there for me my whole life, with nothing but love. But this wasn’t something I could help her through. I was barely holding myself together.
I looked up one more time to the kind, older woman in front of me. She gave me a reassuring smile. And with that, I signed my name.
I gave up my baby.
And…every day for the last nine years, I’ve cried for the life I never got to hold. To know. I never even found out if I had a boy or a girl. The adoption was closed. The moment I pushed the tiny body out of my own, a nurse swaddled it and took it out of the room, shutting the door behind her. That was the first night the dreams came.
They haven’t left.
That’s why today, I’m at Mrs.Talbot’s office. Desperation pulled me here. I need answers. I need to know my baby is safe, is taken care of. I want to know if I gave birth to a little boy with my blue eyes or a little girl with my dark blonde hair. I won’t be able to sleep for another ten years if I don’t.
With that thought, I pull open the large door with Miracle Adoption Agency printed on the glass.
A tree grows a root, deep and strong,
It carries water and nutrients from the soil,
To the leaves, so they can soak up the sun,
Allowing this ancient giant to thrive forever.
I wish I was like a tree, rooted to a home,
Someone with the will to stay,
A story held within my core, with the wisdom of something so old,
But I am not.
I am more like a bird, flying high,
A creature with the insatiable desire to leave and explore warmer places,
Only to come back, time and time again,
Never staying but also never leaving.
So I am a bird, but I make my home in the tree.
Can I be both?
No one has ever caught my eye enough to allow my blood to flow through their veins for eternity.
A teaser from a new piece we have in the works. Enjoy!
As a child mermaids dominated my young imagination. I was Ariel for Halloween for four years in a row. I wore out my VHS tape of The Little Mermaid with my incessant watching. As I got older, my love for them stayed it had just evolved, grew into something so big my mind couldn’t contain it. I decorated my skin with colorful and permanent underwater murals and grew my hair into a long, wavy style. I dreamed often of how it would feel to be weightless all the time, to feel ethereal and beautiful like the merpeople. One with nature, free to explore the ocean floor. Finding sunken treasures, befriending the sea life.
Only, that wasn’t my life. Not at all. It never would be, not after the incident.
I was stuck in a prison with no water, told time and time again that I was crazy.
The pills were meant to take away the delusions, as they called them. The obsessive behaviors I apparently had needed to be contained, dealt with. My dreams were now nightmares to the people who supposedly loved me. But, if they loved me…they would have understood that I had to do what I had done. It was my one dream, my one hope to become who I knew I was inside. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. The ocean was beautiful and powerful, only dangerous to those who didn’t respect it. I had the utmost respect, but I guess she didn’t, as it swallowed my sister whole.
They cut off the long mane of hair I’d grown, made me wear sleeves to cover the dreams I’d inked into my skin. I was devastated. Night after night, I’d awaken, gasping for breath. The once calming effects of the sea become suffocating.
My doctor told me that was guilt.
But I knew better. It wasn’t guilt, it was anger. Blood boiling anger.
This wasn’t who I was supposed to be, where I was supposed to be. I had a higher purpose.
So under the cover of night, I made my way out of my tomb. Silly, silly guards. A little skin and their lips were loose. You know how the saying goes, loose lips, sink ships. And oh would their ship sink and the captain would go down with it.
Turner wrote another poem? Madness. Here it is.
A man of many words,
A woman of many thoughts,
Silence radiating through,
Communication a flat line,
Hopes and dreams pushed under the rug,
Fear and loathing spreading,
Resentment and pain festering in minds,
Inevitable death and dashed desires,
Never moving and never changing,
A man of not enough words,
A woman of no thoughts.