She’d liked to think they were like thw sun
and earth, their paths inevitable.
She’d like to think they were crazy for
each other
But maybe she was crazy for him
and he simply sane for her.
Her yearning overtly personal
His covertly distant
She saw the light around his face
Besotted with his essence
The planets orbiting as morning
and evening came
And she knows now what he felt
for her was temporal, affection
and trust but without the romantic
notions she longed for.
A tragedy for her
A comedy for him.
Two bodies flying through the sky
One pushing closer.
The other pulling away.
Always drifting and wafting
at a heartbreaking distance
A whim of the atmosphere
and unwoken eyes.

-Tosha Michelle

Interview With Tosha Michelle

I was interviews by the exceptional and talented Amanda from Mandibelle16 If you get a chance check it out. She really came up with a wonderful set of questions.

Amanda is also a gifted poet. Her poetry is full of depth and beauty. If you aren’t following her, you should


Happy Monday! Welcome to my bi-weekly interview series. I am happy to share with you September’s second interview: the fascinating, beautiful, and gifted poet,Tosha Michelle from the blog — Everything I Never Told You: Lucidly In Shadows, Poetry From A Hand That Writes Misty. 

Please take a look at her blog here: Everything I Never Told You

Tosha Michelle

1. Tell Us About Yourself Tosha? 

My name is Tosha Michelle and I hail from the land of grits and sweet tea. I’m a poet and author of two books — Confessions of a Reformed Southern Belle and Self Help toSelf Harm. The first is a chapbook and contains some of my earlier poems. The latter is my silly take on the self help genre. I’ve written things since I was a child but I didn’t take up blogging until about five-years-ago.I’m also an abolitionist and Academia addict. I’m…

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Talk Me Down

“I wanna sleep next to you
But that’s all I wanna do right now
And I wanna come home to you
But home is just a room full of my safest sounds
‘Cause you know that I can’t trust myself with my three A.M. shadow
I’d rather fuel a fantasy than deal with this alone
I wanna sleep next to you
But that’s all I wanna do right now
So come over now and talk me down”

And The Truth Spills Out.

imageFrom the archives. Happy Saturday. Have a wonderful weekend.

Let’s imagine that you
love me,
and no light can dim,
no faucet can leak,
and no one can take
you away from me.

Let’s imagine you love my risotto
and seared salmon,
and that you drink the wine,
the Scotch, and the tea.
Your eyes constantly on me.

Let’s imagine I’m what you imagine,
and I can cook risotto and seared salmon,
and never let your glass run dry.
All with my eyes on you.

Let’s imagine we had chemistry to spare,
that we are all warm mouths, and entwined limbs.
The eyes of the sun and the mountains.

Let’s imagine we weren’t the long read,
that took moments to unread.
The storm cloud that spilled
from our shattered wine glasses.
The headlights that flickered out.
The seared salmon that went cold,
the burnt risotto in the pot,
the empty glass in the leaky sink.

Now let’s focus on one true thing.
Your lying mouth and treacherous kisses.
The way you hurt me. Your eyes always
on the next best thing.

-Tosha Michelle


I must write to make sense
of emotions eclipsed
sometimes before they begin.
I must write to find congruence
with those brief flashes of reality
that my heart likes
to distort in an effort
to help me live a life
that sometimes fails.
But it’s always infused with a
dysfunctional shot
of sugar and optimism.
I do my best to honor the upsurge,
but wallow in the gutter of melancholy
from poem to poem
memory a friend and foe to
living, is cleansed through the
written word. The language
clotted by how I chose to
abandon or fashion the
hour of my regret or reprieve.

-Tosha Michelle 

The Rinse Cycle

Tonight I want to forget
monotony and how the
washing machine is full
of a basket of drudgery
and disappointment.

Tonight, I want to spread
myself across the pages
of a dream. I want to forget
time and its incessant
reminder of how short
it is. Always bound to
its restraints.

Tonight I want the luxury
of silk sheets and camisole.
I want to lie in a sea of
classical music, to slip
under your brushstroke
and stay under until the

Tosha Michelle 



That fall he carried his notepad everywhere.
And on those crisp evenings,
I felt him shape and merge
words with paper.
Above us an inky sky,
and I longed to be nothing
but the syntax and nuances
taking form in his mind.

I rest my head on his shoulder,
watching the swaying of his pen.
I become one with the shuddering lines,
that won’t be still.
They reach out and caress my heart.
Stalling my breath.
Touching me here and here.
For a moment, I’m what he shapes.
What he imagines.
I glimmer in edges of the dark lines,
until the words splinter from me

The lines, like the writer,
elusive as the stray wind.

-Tosha Michelle