I think about you everyday,


And tears I weep inside,


I wish that you were here with me,


But every emotion I try to hide.


So, I dream of kissing you,


But it will never be,


You wish of being with someone,


But you don’t dream of me.


You will never know,


I smell your scent in my heart,


That friendship is enough,


Even when we are apart.


And touching hands,


Is enough for me,


To realize I love you,


But my heart will not be free.


There you go, being blind,


When I show you how I care,


But subtlety is my only friend,


Giving you anymore I would never dare.


So let me love you secretly,


Don’t show that you know,


Unless you choose to be with me,


And love my shattered soul.


– Tegan


For someone special….


 


 


 

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My fav Shakespeare play is Romeo and Juliet…I know that is corny, but I can’t help it…It’s not my fav by a lot though, cause I love most of Shakespeare’s works…so in dedication to Romeo and Juliet…


Star-Crossed, Romeo Met Juliet


Two family’s with a feud,


A vengeance unbroken by time.


Montague and Capulet,


Both ignorant of love,


Both clinging to the hope,


Of blood on their swords,


From one family to another.


Destiny had other plans,


Plans to break this holy feud,


In which love could prevail,


And cast the sinners into the light.


And Heaven forged a love in hell,


Where angels would revel and demons not dwell.


For Romeo met Juliet,


And the Heaven’s collided.


A night of passion,


And their bond was sealed,


Montague with Capulet,


Together forever.


Then something went wrong,


Romeo lost Mercutio to hatred,


And Tybalt was stolen from Juliet.


Romeo and Juliet shed tears of blood,


In the streets of Verona,


Where no one wept for them.


Romeo cried for all things broken,


As Juliet lay peaceful in her death,


And he drank away his sorrow.


Juliet cried heaven’s rain,


As Romeo lay curled beside her,


And she pierced the pain in her heart.


Finally the curse was broken,


Hand reached out to hand,


Pain of loss created hope,


And Capulet took Montague as friend.


But Romeo and Juliet,


They live on forever,


In death they are together.


– Tegan Simmons November 17, 2004

Magic


And you look at me,


I look away,


We could never be together,


But it’s nice to think,


That I am not,


The only one suffering.


I look at you,


You look away,


I could never hold you close,


But it’s nice to dream,


Of being in your arms,


And sleepless nights together.


I look at you,


You look at me,


Electricity shoots from body to body,


That even those around can feel it,


They think it’s hate,


But they don’t know,


That it is really love.


I touch your arm by accident,


You slowly curl away,


But in the next moment,


You brush my shoulder quickly.


You blush when I am near,


I blush when you can’t see me,


And our eyes do a dance of trust.


They would break us if they knew,


And so we keep it secret,


But our eyes tell everything to each other.


It’s stupid that we cannot be together,


When every stolen moment with you is magic.

This Battle


I wish I were an emotion,


Nothing in between,


Searing rage or anger,


Love or fear or greed.


But everything inside me,


Is confused by who I am,


One minute I am happy,


The next I feel half-dead.


Blackened heart of evil,


Or innocence so pure,


But both they are inside me,


There seems to be no cure.


Why am I both, yet nothing,


Why can I not decide,


Whether to be good or bad,


This battle that I hide.

I wrote this a year or so ago….


The petal wilts, crumbles and falls to the table, as I sit and watch the moon shine through the glass window. Lights from buildings wink on and off, but my sight is only blurred by them. Again I see the moon, and then the clouds that cover it from view. I look back down at the blank paper and envision some rich landscape bursting to life from the tip of my pen, but nothing comes. And so I place the pen down, sip my tea, and retrace the steps my eyes have taken all night. Back to the moon, newly shined by the cleansing clouds. A shiny nickle in the polluted river of air flowing through the city. Then another light close by, a star that has just flourished into life, both of these contrasting with the dying rose on my tabletop. A ladybug surprises me as I sit, climbing its way up the table leg. Fearing for it, on the vast expanse of work I have laid out, I capture it and release it into the night. Almost regretting the loss of the company I had let go, but heartened by my sense of duty to something so much smaller than myself. Again the moon draws my eyes to its beauty, a circular whole in a vast emptiness. A shadow of a tree causes fragments of light to build its form in my view. Then I look again at the wilting rose and caress the petal now lying curled on my tabletop, so lifeless. Almost immediately, I pull my hand away from the feeling of decay and whisk my eyes back to the eternal moon. Alive, but changing, there in the beginning and there until the end. An extensive library of memories stored in its sacred circle. A plethora of history stuck in the coldness of nothingness. Impatiently I wipe tears from my eyes and glare at the stains forming on my paper, angry at its fragility. Its only purpose for my ink to fill its lines and build something interesting or plain. Never wanting anything more or less, just sitting and waiting. I push the pen away, not giving in to the papers needs, but feeling the dread of losing thoughts circulating in my mind. I look to the moon, my savior. It shines, again I marvel at its stability and wonder at its power. My vision blurs again and again I wipe away the tears. The only reason for them being my unfaltering memory and what is stored there. Like the moon I have too many memories, some painful and some pleasant. The rose, however, slowly parishes and I see the moon peaking at its falling form. Beauty reaching out to beauty, feeling for its pain as it decays. The rose begins to draw me from the moon and again I touch that crumbling petal. Only this time I caress it and hold it in my palm. Smooth as silk and still red, as though everything that dies must exhibit some form of blood. The petal’s colour leaks onto my hand, transferring its essence, its memories. And slowly I grow and age, sitting in a vase on a table waiting to die. Then I wilt and wither, knowing that I once was beautiful and some still consider me beautiful. This time no tears come, but I smile and place the wrinkled petal into the pages of a book. A keepsake, a memory of a life now gone. Then looking at the moon I smile and through my glass portal it smiles back. The window shows my face and as I follow its reflection I see the pen and paper that want my words. And so, without thinking I give in and offer my thoughts to its mind, slowly the paper absorbs each word and collects them into sentences. Funny how its memories match min, funnier still how the moon has left me to my work. No doubt shining down on some other shadow lost in memory behind a frame of glass, a mirror of an image that will change.

At Night


Snap!


I awaken,


To a disturbing thought of you.


You smile,


Unperturbed,


That your eyes are on fire with hate.


I dread,


That you’ll notice,


As I awaken and crawl from your warmth.


You don’t notice,


And I weep,


Cause your face is as peaceful as always.


You sleep,


And I crumble,


Cause I cannot grasp at the darkness.


You turn,


And whimper,


When you find that I am missing.


I reach for you,


And you pull me close,


And I forget everything I thought before.


-September 14/2004

I Don’t Usually Do Happy Endings


Those eyes that peer at me,
So deep and understanding,
Green with life and empathy.
These grey eyes stare in wonder,
That you could ever love me,
When I am filled with hate and anger.
But you brush my tears away,
You cling with love and hope,
I’m breaking everyday that you are gone.
You whisper soft caresses,
So simple that I lose them,
But my heart is full of holes you have filled.
Time goes by so slowly,
When you have gone away,
But it breaks my spirit when I’m lying in your arms.
You taste of sinful love,
But everything is perfect,
And everything I am has changed to good.
Maybe this is heaven,
But I know reality,
And this world will never know about our love.
We know eachothers souls,
Our hearts are intertwined,
And that is enough to make me glad.
It’s strange that I am learning,
What it means to be in love,
I don’t usually do happy endings.


Nov.2/2004

…a poem, read with caution…

Makeshift Angel

I am marching into heaven,
With sadness on my face,
I hate to leave this haven,
But inside I fear this place.
The angels, they are smiling,
As they greet me at the gate,
But they don’t know my carnage,
Or the sealing of their fate.
Inside my soul is twisted,
It is rotted to the core,
I’ve been this way forever,
And my heart has been so sore.
I rip the wings off one,
As they scream in fear of me,
I place them on my back,
The makeshift angel, see.
I fly around in wreckage,
Turning heaven into hell,
Showing them my darkness,
From wence this ‘angel’ fell.
They whisper at my madness,
And churn when I come near,
But they’ll never know the pain,
Of clinging to my fear.
Mutilate my body,
With the caution of your whip,
Tear me down from heaven,
On a throne of thorn I sit.
And when God’s wrath is on me,
I’ll be free at last,
No more faking who I am,
And, down to hell I’m cast.

…i wrote it yesterday and did this angel drawing and photoshoped it on deviant…