The Past

The past slips forward
under the door.
Slithering around on the
floor, tangled with our
muted perceptions and half
recalled facts. It’s dines
on our regrets, our annual
if only breakfast of crow.
We study it like math,
figures, we can’t quite grasp
We equate in retrospect.
under a ghost light
We ponder its multiplicity.
We survive on a broken
calculator and flashcards
that read don’t let go.

-Tosha Michelle 

How to be an Expert at Life Part 2

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If you can’t leap
then fall.

Correlate. Equate.
Arrange. Rearrange
Be an apprentice of the years.

Sometimes breathing is in the
spinning as the still world passes.

It not the heavens that matter
but how you soar through them.

Teach your broken spirit
how to navigate landmines.

Remember that yesterday is just as
relentless as tomorrow.

Your griefs and sorrows are not
the worst of griefs and sorrows.

Find hope in pain. The new pain,
the old pains that returns.

Teach your heart to be sensitive
to the music of your bones.

Don’t be afraid to tear your
skin away and begin again.

Don’t become immune to
the overwhelming.

Listen to your nude soul’s intuition
Let your mind await instruction.

Don’t concern yourself with the
breakable dawn.

Use your talents, the seeding
of grain to nurture survival.

You are the boat, the canopy,
the light, the decree.

Remember the eternal sleep,
the erasure, always lurks
in the shadows,
ready to loosen souls
and carry us toward some
unspecific light.

Life is all in the choosing.
Come September, come
December, then April
For today, choose to live.
Choose to be.

-Tosha Michelle

We Belong

“Many times I tried to tell you
Many times I cried alone
Always I’m surprised how well you cut my feelings to the bone
Don’t want to leave you really
I’ve invested too much time to give you up that easy
To the doubts that complicate your mind
We belong to the light, we belong to the thunder
We belong to the sound of the words we’ve both fallen under
Whatever we deny or embrace for worse or for better
We belong, we belong, we belong together”

Where the Ash Fell


If I never see you again.
I hope it all goes well.
You find the one I wasn’t
That the roses you stake always
climb the trellis.
And you find a job that’s
more than stellar.
Remember you deserve all
the happiness in the world
The gifts you received
and those you never got.

I’ll never blame you or the
fire for the ash you
left behind. I’ll just
remember the light
And the last time I saw you
when you so frivolously
said just wait there
my dear although the woods
were pathless and there
was only anguish to collect.
You still carved a diamond in my head
even as the storm washed away
the sun. The flame somehow revived
Always surviving best in places
it wasn’t meant to burn.

-Tosha Michelle

Poetry

It feels safe to reside inside poetry. It’s my escape route.
Real and imagined.
Here I can live multiple lives
My feelings are diverse, if I tire of one emotion, there’s always another close as the ink on my hand.
Poetry holds my heart, and understands like water, I’m perpetually in transition. My words take on many forms. Some are steeped in reality. Others, solely fantasy, perhaps, live perceived in a parallel universe.

My soul never grows static in verse. My poet self, helps me gain confidence to live life as my real self, to have the courage to balance monotony and forgive the world its drudgery.

-Tosha Michelle 

Choice

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His shirt is devoid of him.
My dress is much too
pretty to put on.
This day is an easy
choice. Tomorrow,
might not be.

The flames fan to
a jar of splinters
we chopped the
night before. The
fire takes what is
giving freely (without
thought)

I choose to take the
heat in his eyes. I step
out of the shower.
and notices the sexy
message he left
for me on the mirror,
Now the glass is
less full of clean
me.

We make our decisions
We become our choices
We become pleasure
We become pain.

Life with all it’s options.
Roads to choose.
Do we drift or stay
on course? Turn
forward? Turn back?

We make love and tea.
Pillows spill from the bed.
We roll around on the floor
wallowing in soot.
A mop is the only response

Dawn slivers through the
window and across our
bare skin.. The sun winks
at us through a wave of
white. The sky, tall and
blue, curtsies. Taunting
us through the window
pane. The sky and sun
knowing (of course) that
they are an easy choice.

-Tosha Michelle