April 13 – When We Breathe Regret

She is the world untethered
Fists closed around broken stone
Silence the wind, the tears

She is the tattered dreams
Left rotting in the bulging snow
Cold hatred, the burning

She is the unspoken words
Ripped from beating chests
Blood thick, the fading warmth

She is past cruelty, onward life
No returning to the fetid corpse
Bloated with regret, the hurt

She is gone from all remembering
Blown out with the pale light of dawn
Lights flickered goodbye, the sacrifice

P.S. Sorry for the looooooong wait. Been a little busy with a little baby 😀
This poem is a reject from Poetry Magazine, as are the three that will follow.


April 12 – Discussing Broken Objects

You wrap yourself up, cushion tight
To protect yourself from the pinpricks and the barbs
But when one of them breaks through
You can’t stem the flow of the ever growing wound
It’s not too easy to look past the pain
It sticks to your heart even when it has healed

– Tegan Thuss

April 11 – We Fall Down

We are silence unbound
            by our own anger.
We live with fear
            etched on our broken ribs.
Echoes of our happiness
            trim the windows filled with dust.
The scars we leave have
            become the trophies on our shelves.
Rain clouds gather constantly
            to hide the sting of tears.
We bear it slowly with our smiles
            as false as the promises littered on the floor.

– Tegan Thuss

April 6 – A Recording of Two Lives

Side A: We Weren’t Meant to Burn

I always knew the fizzle was a sign of things to come.
You knew sparks were made of fingers on legs
But you never knew that my legs never conducted much electricity.
I spasm sometimes when I’m thinking of life
And you called that love, cause I could feel you moving.
If only it weren’t so wrong, if only I could feel the earth shake when you rocked.
We weren’t meant to learn love songs, only rough notes and guarded words.

I hate bugs, you collect scabs
We lived inside ourselves
Windows foggy, steamed up
I couldn’t see your insides
I was sure there was some tar in there
I knew there was some soot in me

As the sun was setting I thought about endings, you kept whispering about beginnings.
I felt bad, because I knew that happiness was not about your hand in mine,
It was more about feeling lost in motion, in moving forward, in future discovery.
You always thought I had moonlight in my hair and stars in my eyes,
Sometimes I laughed at night thinking of how naïve you were, how young.
Really I just didn’t know the meaning of being with another person, of grabbing
On to something and pulling and pushing and never breaking, always mending.
I liked looking at glass shattering, you should have known then that I would
Break that heart of yours.

I had no tears for you
Only a goodbye that left you silent
When I walked away
I thought you must have been a doll
And I was the puppet master
Cutting the strings
But I felt free, and you felt alone
Guess that’s what never again
Feels like.

Side B: You and I Are the Cosmos Racing

Shooting stars, I never knew they could burn your eyes with truth
Until I looked up while holding your hand, and felt the tailwinds on my face.
Life felt bigger and smaller all at once, with your arms around my stomach.
I heard the song on the wind, the whistle in the breeze, and I knew how love felt.

You held rainbows softly, letting the colours drips through your fingers
And into my hair. I laughed because it tickled.
Every time you said goodbye, I felt my heart float up like a balloon tied to your wrist
Following you everywhere you went without me.
You promised nothing, but I knew with you everything was for me and it always would be,
No doubts or lies, no secrets spilling behind shut lips.
We kissed and my smile stretched against the sun, warm against your lips
I’m content just to live and love with you forever.

I remember times when I was freedom, wings on back and shades drawn
No one knew the inside of my soul.
Now I’m open book, fairytale story, and you are an avid reader
Fingertips tracing the words of my being.

I’m never flippant or scared or trying not to be hurt, I am flowing thoughts
I break out of unknown into knowing you and knowing who I will be
Knowing I am myself, I am you, I am world, we are one.
I am living every day for myself, for you, and for this little seed we have blessed to grow.

– Tegan Thuss

March 29 – Life’s Little Entries

Entry 1

Dear Journal masquerading as Notebook for work,

I did it again today. I stared into those eyes, dreamt I could be held in them, and saw instead the reflection of HER.
HER. Evil incarnate. Reason that I am alone, sad, depressed, wanting.
She breaths, and I rot in my own misery.
He looked nice, jeans, cowboy shirt, half-tilted smile. I smiled and smiled all day, chatting with him whenever I had the chance. Do boys ever know when they could just grab you and kiss you and not let go? Do they ever know that?

Idiot. I know.

Entry 2

Dear Journal wanting to be more than it is,

I dreamt of him. Soft kisses, golden smiles, hands that stretched over me, under me, around me. He ached, I felt it, he laughed and my whole chest exploded with happiness.
I HATE. Hate that I am not with him, that I feel this need to paint myself in sorrow each time he is not around. I wish I could wear colour again…
He looked nice, sports jersey and tossled hair. He poked me and I laughed, laughed and smiled and felt my heart expand.

The Idiot.

Entry 3

Dear journal sucking my soul dry,

If π is an infinite number and the world is round, than why am I not with him? It seems like it would be logical, concise, predictable. And yet, there she stands in his eyes always waving, smiling, punching me in the gut. And he just smiles right back, entranced by her every move, her every breath. She spins fairy tales in his heart, she lets down her hair and he aches to climb it forever. I weep poisoned apples, hoping she will taste just one.

The Idiot.

– Tegan Thuss 

March 25 – Yellow Rose

Old leather boots
Had a smile set on easy
And he whipped it out
Like a six shooter at noon
Always perfect aim

He wore his hat
As a second skin
His personality told by the tilt
His eyes resting under it
Shadow blue like thunder in heat

His faded jacket worn to the bone
You could almost see
His soul in the pockets
And when he took it off
The ladies swore there was sex in his step

He’d order only straight
No rocks, no chaser
He’d down it in one
Then gleam those white pearls
Toward a sure fire filly

But those old leather boots
They gave him away
Dusted from years, worn down
With a little yellow flower on the heel
Which everyone knew was the last of his heart

– Tegan Thuss 

March 24 – Monday Morning

Mini microbes
invade brain socket
with warning bells
of fettered destiny

Warring rain fall eyes
pick clean the glue
pressed torn papers
from savaged skin

Bloodied nails
cling to dress fragments
ash remembered
feet bared on tar

Catastrophe caught
in a nylon net 
held by calloused fingers
wet with hope

I didn’t come here
for the stars
I burn here
for the sun

– Tegan Thuss

February 29 – Winter’s Kiss

These tears fall down my cheeks like leaves
Winter’s coming
I can feel the cool wind in the sighs escaping my lips
Frostbite clings to fingers that used to feel warmth
There is a chill that runs down my spine
Snowflakes under skin
Autumn dusk spills an orange sun on my tinted cheeks
Darkness clasps my shoulders, bare
Goodbye still lingers in the air

– Tegan Thuss

February 25 – Hallowed Halls

You always told me if I was quiet and stopped to listen to the world I would hear your voice whispering in my ear. All I hear is the silence weighing me down, the humming drone of a world turning while you fight to breathe. I always thought that the sun was the light you let out of your eyes, straight from your soul, burning. The sun is up, but your eyes are closed and there’s something about the shimmer that makes me want to shut the blinds. I can’t remember the last time you smiled, and I’m trying to piece together your laugh from parts of conversations running continuously through my mind. We’ve left these words hanging by the door, lying in the bed, moving round the kitchen, following me until I cannot hear anything but the echo of the silence that they leave. Your hands are cold, your half gone already, pale fragment, faded photograph I am trying to restore. It’s not easy when your sighs sound like moans of the dying, when you live like a ghost waiting to dissipate. I am the walking dead without the life you had to share with me, you are the dying light I wish that I could switch back on.

– Tegan Thuss