Baby, I’m sorry. (I’m not sorry)

Jamming out with cookie monster. Happy Saturday

Baby, fineness is the way to kill
Tell me how it feel, bet it’s such a bitter pill
And yeah, I know you thought you had bigger, better things
Bet right now this stings (wait a minute)
‘Cause the grass is greener under me
Bright as technicolor, I can tell that you can see
And yeah, I know how bad it must hurt to see me like this
But it gets worse (wait a minute)

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Chit Chat Chicks

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Hello lovely ones. Greetings from the land of confusion. I have a favor to ask. As some of you know, I host a podcast with my beautiful friend Jane called Chit Chat Chicks. We bring you the latest in entertainment and good old fashion snark. Some of our past guests have included Norman Reedus from The Walking Dead, Allison Burnett, known for movies like Fame, Autumn in New York and Gone, and Ericka Eleniak from Baywatch

We have started a blog for the podcast. If you are so inclined we would love for you to follow us. I’m not sure where we will lead you, but I can promise it will be a fun trip. We will also follow you anywhere, but if you could direct us to a chocolate store, that would be great. As always, thanks for the support. The WordPress community is one of the nicest. Really happy to have connected with most of you. Ha! Happy Thursday.

You can find us here: Chick Chat Chicks Blog

The Heart of The Matter

When my life becomes
hard. I write away in
my notebook of dreams
that lives on my desk.
I take a short cut through
ink to be with it.
My pen
of angst spilling out
particles of love. desire,
fears.
I wonder how the pages
can ingest them all. My
constant purging of
emotions. Trying to
convey with words
truth before time
distorts it and it
becomes an artifact in
the Museum of
UnNatural History.
At times the fog
likes to exert control
over my verse. Longing
tend to be blind to
reality and reason.
It never sees things
as they are. The poet
trying to alter the
past and its asterisk
Poetry becomes a
contraption of denial.
Truth fight its way
through pages
watermark by tears
to sit on my back
like a weighed
pack, pulling
down hard on the
straps. Reminding me
how flimsy
my poetry and life
would be without it.

-Tosha Michelle

I liked the Tin Man song so much, I decided to do a cover. Hope you’ll give a listen

Day Tripper 

Please excuse my absence. I have doctor’s note. Ha.  Just not from that kind of doctor. You guessed it,  a witch doctor. Ha! In reality, currently working on my post graduate degree. It’s keeping me pretty pretty busy.  I haven’t had a lot of time to write poetry. I did take a day trip to the mountains recently and thought I would share some photos with you. Miss interacting with you all. 








Words, Interrupted

If I write it down
I can’t take it back.
When I’m gone, and
the wind of your world
is still scented with
my verse, what then?

Who will I be to you?
a bittersweet arrangement
of molecules only legible
under certain nostalgic light?
The tug of your heart, of
what might have been?

If your voice fails you
give them my words.
Tell them this is how
she adored me,
with syntax and lyrical sighs,
bleeding emotions.
The wingspan of her poetry.

I dressed you only
in the sun, too far gone
to halt our ending, but still
close enough for you to cling
to the last bit of light.

You’ll find me somewhere
lost between the pages of
your life. Sitting on an
endless porch swing singing
the blue notes.

The language never quite finished.
The language;never quite done.

Tosha Michelle