The Soul Collects Thorns


The soul collects thorns.
The heart hoards regrets.
The mind feast on memories.
The rose profligates.
We were a mutation,
a fender bender, a war
yet some piece of you lingers
in me and I won’t give it back.
The shrapnel remains in the wound.
Think of the stain
that never comes off a shirt.
The burn mark on an empty pan,
left too long on the stove.
Just because we’ve had more than we could take
doesn’t mean we wanted too much.

-Tosha Michelle

My cover of “Love Yourself”


49 thoughts on “The Soul Collects Thorns

  1. Oh so many wounds and shrapnel. I’ll agree with that wholeheartedly, Poetess! And if anyone tells us we are overweight, we can cite all of the broken hearts of the past and then go get a cheeseburger. πŸ˜‰ This is wonderful, Tosha. ❀

    Liked by 1 person

  2. The personification and metaphors in this one are fantastic. Most of us carry shrapnel from those old wounds and it most certainly does stay with us. Just wow, Tosha!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Bloody WordPress is being a twot again! No like button for my crooked index finger to bang.
    I will not be defeated, therefore…
    Up yours WordPress!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. “Just because we’ve had more than we could take doesn’t mean we wanted too much.” – I absolutely love those last couple of lines “set up” ahead of time by the shrapnel, stain and burn mark imagery. πŸ™‚

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Tosha you have no idea how this hits home for me. I love all of your poetry that I have read thus far but this one…ah, it just nearly made me teary and ya know… I don’t cry. Beautiful!

    Liked by 1 person

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