You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me…

but you better Ha!

Hello everyone. It’s time for another cover. This one goes out to the lovely and artistic Benjamin. He’s also a wonderful writer. He kind of has a bad boy vibe going but in a sensitive way. If you get a chance check out his blog at

You’ll love it.

And now for the song My version of Dusty Springfield’s “You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me

I Wish


I’m tired of being love’s
recruit. I want to enlist
in hate

I wish there was a dose
of something that would
make me care less.

I’m tired of doing math, I
forgot a long time ago.

Tonight, I want to get
wrecked and call it

I want to sleep on the
deathbed of empathy.
and be reborn a cynic.

Instead, I’ll wake
tomorrow. Victory
sinking and thinking
love is as necessary
as a soul patch to
a hipster.

Never content to let
it rest. Always trying
to stitch it and people
back together.

Always a sucker
for Mahler and his

Always in tune with
the birds weeping
in the trees.

Never content to
hide in dark places
with the moon.

Always making
something out of
nothing that
isn’t there.

-Tosha Michelle

The Grudge


I watered the grudge with a
fervent devotion of a priest
giving communion. I watered
it with the determination of
a drunk on his fourth glass
of gin. The destructive
clockwork of a not so
righteous self.

The cactus in my heart
erupting. I watered it everyday
with a can of venom. My hands
blistering over from the hate.
The fluid and its dark nutrients
taking root, until the petals
bloomed over and clotted my
brain, until there was nothing
left but arid air, laced with
regret, and the silence of
time wasted. The stale
taste of a garden grown
on the wreckage of malice
Gone. The long reign of
bitterness. The tight reign
of hurt feelings. The shards
of anger, shaken from my
eyes. I finally see the sterile
landscape clearly.

How the realization stings.

-Tosha Michelle

Unseeable World

I am of catastrophic mind,
besotten with the invisible world
where shadows go to hide.
Blue is an alchemy and serenity
scarce. Great sorrows lead
to greater regrets.

From the outside looking in
the window of my world, it would seem
my being has been charmed like
the sky on a sunny, spring day.
Most of my life I’ve taken consuls
with melancholy and consorted with darkness.

Some nights I paint happiness
into the scene, and for a time
the leafless vista is colored
with gold. But soon enough
I’ll drink from the chalice
with the elixir for joy in it.
Stepping over contentment
back into my unseeable world.

-Tosha Michelle



I saw you in the morning
from the window of my
running to catch the train
You were wearing your
famous blue shirt, which
is really more green.
You smiled at the
pretty brunette to
your left. Distracted
by her beauty,
you almost tripped
boarding the train.
You were headed to
work. Your man purse
slung over your
Your hair slightly
in that sexy
way that your hair
It reminded me
of my heart
always slightly a wreck,
and in disray over you.
As I was daydreaming
your train pulled away.
Then there was just
the hazy, gray sheen
of the morning, like
unpolished sliver and
the steep buildings
that blended into the
dullness of the sky.

It was you, and the
disappearing train
which shaped the
Departure and
The journey and
the destination..
It is here
our narrative
Leaving the narrator
behind with a memory
that lingers and loves
without reason.
Tosha Michelle 

For Mr. Modigliani

Hello lovely people. Below is my latest cover. This is dedicated to the dashing and dapper Mr. Modigliani If you aren’t follow him, shame on you. If you enjoy erotic poetry, beautiful art and insightful musings, his weblog is for you and you and you and yes, even you.

and now for my caterwauling

and for some real coolness

Crushed Flowers 

One of my earlier poems 

And these are my flaws

My vices.

Impatience, a tongue

sharp as a guillotine.

Caffeine. Chocolate.

Sarcasm on every occasion.

And unquenchable desire

to be loved.

A heart that is an

exhibitionist who

weeps upon

my sleeve

A fear of monochrome

colors, thunder,

the undone,

petty gossip

and letting go.

A hunger to be kissed

often and with fervor.

An awkward shyness

around new people.

A fascination with

the lure of a snowbound


Not being Christian

enough to turn the

other cheek or Zen

enough to just be still.

The knowledge that my

life is unimportant

in a world with a noose

around its neck but

writing about it


I often prefer the company

of books and my cat to

other human beings.

I live nside a cluttered

mind in a pristine house.

And not listening closely

to my Granny and her

treasury of wise words

Most which I have

forgotten, but

I do recall her saying

you must learn

to take what will

be with grace,

that our flaws

bind us

to humanity,

and to never forget

even crushed

flowers are beautiful.