You. Me.


A distant dream I had before,

A lingering whisper,

A meaningful song.


A sad reminder of the time you spent

In transit

On your way from here to heaven.


A stranger, with a friendly face,

A roll of pennies,

A light in darkened places.


Stiff and uncaring,

Watching as you drift from living

Into dying, into death.


A child’s lullaby,

A bluebird’s whistle on the ever changing wind,

A silent hill, speaking to a mountain high.


A human sacrifice,

From old Gods to new,

From your voice to the voice of nothing that you left.


A poem that rhymes without a sound,

A faint calling on the tide,

A swing for hopes and dreams to build on.


I once was like that,

A child with everything to live for,

Then you died…

You. Me.

– Tegan Simmons



I am bent towards my inevitable end.

I have bled, and bled, and bled, and I am still bleeding.

I am the broken hearted, the disheveled, the left-in-the-gutter trash that no one remembers to pick up or take away.

I am the rejected, the lost, the disembodied ghost of the person you wanted me to be.

And I am suffering for sins I neglected to commit, for dreams I neglected to permit myself to have, and for the regrets that litter my heart with scars I can never manage to forget or heal.

I am the disturber, the disenchanted, the home wrecker that no one ever let into their home in the first place.

I am drama, I am sadness, I am guilt.

I feel fickle, I feel stable, I feel drowned in emotions I cannot even fathom to name.

I do not feel, I cannot feel, I feel numb.

There is softness inside of me, I am cold as ice.

There is nothing I can hide from your eyes, but your eyes are blind to me.

I am the homeless child you turn away from, I am the singer that you want to be, I am the nobody that writes your life story from some high building on the tips of a silver cloud.

I cannot be myself, I cannot be someone else, I can only be this ghost, this nothingness.

There is a lull in traffic, I am caught in a whirlwind.

Somebody is holding me, tasting me, crying over my corpse.

There are no flowers where I lie; I lie in my bed asleep in my dreamless mind.

There is a shy echo in my lungs, a cough from too many cigarettes I have yet to smoke.

I can feel the cancer, the aids, the disinfectant as I rub down the scabs and the sores from the pollution of the city streets.

I smell country air, spy the country sky, but I am stuck in the lighted hollow of the damaged world.

I am the muse, the one that sat on the shoulder of the greats and sighed out the words that would change the world, yet I know nothing about politics or life or love.

Fade, black, night, dark, sad, lonely, deep in thought.

Cherished by school children who cannot run fast enough home to baked cookies; but Mother is dead now, stabbed by the Father, the Brother, the Son and the Postman.

I have ticketed my way to other countries, but they have left me unsatisfied and ill favoured.

I have read the poets, read the poems, read the highlights of the evening news, and all of them have sounded the same, no change in cadence or in events.

I have stripped naked in the nearest club, I have hob-nobbed with country gentlemen, and yet I have seen no difference in who they are, in how they live.

I have been bankrupt, I have been rich, I have been the poorest rat in the sewer, and the richest hog on the farm.

Yet money is my lifeline, or so Regis tells me.

I am chosen by some, to dine in the cart of the man who would give me the kiss of death.

I have seen God, in the faces of the people I meet, in the sizes of cities, in the converse of streets, in the simplest of smiles and the choicest of meats.

I have heard angels whisper, in lullabies, in nursery rhymes, in children’s stories, and in the death sentence of a convicted murderer.

I have felt love, I have felt death; I have felt everything and nothing at the same time as I have cheated my way past my life expectancy.

There is a row of people on the steps where I live, and each one is more different than the last.

I have seen white, I have seen black, I have seen red, brown, yellow, and I have yet to understand how they convey so much meaning, so much hate, so much rage and so much sadness.

I have held hands in the park, swung higher than the bars above my head, slid into oblivion where my fate was at the rock bottom of a yellow sunny day.

I have been swimming in the lake, the pond, the river, the ocean…and still I have not met the dolphins, the sharks, the mermaids or the talking fish.

I have been to the top of the world, and the bottom of hell, and I have wondered whether they were that different from one another.

I have been bruised, battered, mishandled, objectified, and teased.

I have been compassionate, understanding, fleeting and demanding.

I have been praised, complemented, given love, but never told “I love you!”

I have been afraid of being hated, of being alone, of being forgotten by the one I love.

I have loved you, whether you know it or not.

There have been moments of torture, of deceit, of temptation, and of sacrifice, but for you I have risked death and come out with a smile still etched upon my almost marble face.

Somewhere birds sing, dogs bark, and little fish blow bubbles, and somewhere a woman releases the sound that her lover has been pushing her to make.

There is a leak, it is not that big, not that strong, but it is there; small and ever dripping, dripping, dripping from the open wound in my heart.

I have cried, wept, wailed, and I am still tasting the salt on my lips.

I have punched, fought, tackled, and still I feel the crunch of bone, the smoothness of skin, and the wetness of blood on dirt.

I have been open, honest, and truthful. I have been closed, lied, and would not let you over my wall.

I have slit my wrists, hung myself, stood in front of a car, and jumped off a building.

I have saved a life, walked away, and said goodbye.

I have been undecided and stupid, and childish and mean.

I say many things I wish I could take back, many things that are false or that hurt others. Still I continue to say them, and I continue to close off everything I am.

I have changed, am changing, will change again.

I have dealt blows, received throws, and I am destroying myself the most.

I have bled, bled, bled, and I am bleeding even now.

I am on the way to the end now, near the light, tasting eternity with every word I write.

I am bent, broken, torn, twisted, fucked in the head.

I am all those things, all those stories, all those lies, all those truths, all those half-assed attempts at everything.

I am hate, fear, spite. I am peace, love and life.

I am human.


– Tegan Simmons


With Regret I Whispered

As the night wind blew by the tears streaking down her face, she whispered the words she could never say to him. All those words she kept locked away in her hidden heart, the one he pressed to see, pressed to know every truth within. But she could never tell him, never trust him to be there for her forever. But the wind carried those words around her, wrapping her in the memory of why he left, why he had said goodbye. The tears lifted and fell, like rain from clouds that could finally release everything they had been holding inside of them. The grass she stood bare foot on was cool and embraced her naked soul.

She could smell him on the air, a fragrance that distilled the beating of her rapid heart. There was no one else anywhere around her, no one within miles of her comforting hollow. No life even, no animals or sounds of the world outside of her head. She smiled then, tears still freely falling, and she listened to her own rapid breathing. There was no stopping him, even those small words would be too late said to make him turn around and return. He was gone, in some other woman’s memories now, filling some other slumbering heart with the courage to live and to love. All she could do was remember and regret.


A poem written by my dad, now you see where my talent comes from.

Worth The Cost

The story started slowly, so very long ago

Twists and turns made up every page

With omens and signs of how it would all end

But still, lines came together

To form chapter after chapter

The highs and lows

The love and laughter, the tears and joy

A great love was given to me

It created four wonderful human beings

Who have stories of their own to write for the world

Though our great love came to a saddening end

It will always be in my heart

No matter what the final lines may be

For that I’m grateful

For some never know what I’ve had and lost

And when all is over and done

Once I’ve crossed over to be greeted by all who have gone before

I’ll tell them, everyone

That to have loved and been loved by you

Was truly worth the cost.    

– Buzz Erkko (William Simmons) 2006