But I Don’t Wanna be Queen.


Don’t sit with your legs
Sit like a queen

Mind your manners.
Curl your locks.
Priss and preen
Everyone knows the
world loves pretty.

Don’t sit with your
legs crisscrossed
Sit like a queen.

Show those gleaming
Never be cross or mean.

Don’t grow old,
frail or weak.

Don’t sit with your legs
Sit like a queen.

Paint your nails.
Fingers and toes.

Give up food.
Remain a size 2.

Be the princess
married to the king.

Don’t sit with your legs
Sit like a queen.

-Tosha Michelle




Sometimes even the flutter
of moth wings is too loud.
I crave silence. I even write
in hushed tones under an oak
tree where nature seems
spiritual and serenity touches
me through the dew filled daisies.
I raise my pen to the sun.
I take in the charm of fresh air,
a storytelling of peace. It’s easier
to trust in the smell of honeysuckles
and the blueness above than humans.
People vanish with the seasons and create
noise and chaos inside my head. But the sky,
today, at least, is a reliable ally.
It whispers to me in
calm meditative tones
In the quiet I breathe again.

-Tosha Michelle



I always want the things I can’t understand.
And I want understanding
from the things I can’t understand.
I turn them over in my mind like a Rubik’s Cube,
or an outdated reference.

This is regardless, of the things I have and do understand.

What’s the demarcation between settling and unrealistic expectations?

Why am I more interested in the mist than seeing the horizon?

What is it I think I’m missing: sex, romance, adventure, simplicity, humidity?

Blocked by what- responsiblility, obligations, discipline, weather?

I don’t want the mist to clear.
I play keep away with the sun.

The wheels on the bus
turn round and round but
I’m not waiting on a ride.
I’m going nowhere.

Maybe my mind just has a grudge against me.
Look at it always wanting something more,
in spite of….

-Tosha Michelle

Loving You


Something sweet and romantic for a change. Gag. Kidding!!

Loving you is a Saturday
feeling and a Sunday stroll.
For you, the encrypted
become unencrypted.

You will never not love me,
even when our weekends turn into

Even when our photos
become monuments of us,
a still life of
sunlight and cedar,
the girl I was, abloom
in a field of beginnings.

Love that can’t hide
in a napkin, a coffee spill
or a blade of grass.

Liveable lives.

Serene seas and mountains,
and the artifacts of
a champagne flute,
periwinkle shirts
and promises.

The litter of swoon
and our once in a
lifetime constellation.

-Tosha Michelle

Vicious Cycle


Unseen memories.
Thoughts of yesterday,
Circle an empty room.
They don’t make a sound.
Scars commiserate with
what was in a silent benediction.
Nothing stirs, except my soul.
The past is everywhere.
The past is nowhere.
Years have gone by, and
still I can’t stop collecting
dust of spent regrets.
The particles a reflection
of what is left of the light.

-Tosha Michelle

Listen to Fields – Of – Gold -Vocals and Guitar by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud

Love Language.


She always wants to love
in small sane ways.
But as soon as she listens to
her heart, it lies in the open
mouth passionate kiss of
spring and rebirth.

She writes in the third person
to avoid the intimate tone.
But “I” slips in every time
I try to hide out
in metaphors, but come out
before the count of ten.

I always want to keep
at least part of myself
for me, to be reasonable
and clear headed.
To write the visible life
but remain invisible.

Instead my love is a wild
iris overgrown. My soul
meant to maintain clarity,
gets drunk on the elixir,
refuses to be tamed.
I try to mute my love
but the clasp won’t
stay closed.
My pen refuses
to still.

My love becomes large,
all encompassing, piercing,
a festering longing, a sea
of stuttering syntax.

She wants to love
in small, sane ways,
court reason without
gestures or signs, to write
with nothing to decipher,
but her heart lies every time.

-Tosha Michelle

My cover of “Time After Time”

Listen to Time After Time (a bit raw) by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud

Fault Lines


Why is happiness so fragile?
It can disappear so quickly,
like the dandelions along
the roadside in spring.

Have you noticed how
quickly judgement comes
with those unfamiliar with
the scope of the night,
the serrated edge of
life, the blunt
edge of depression?

I sit in the grass watching
the moon rise and I
wonder if we can live
our way into happiness,
into being. I’ve spent
the whole of my life
on the precipice of
sinking deep, and far
into the bottom of
darkness. I’ve been
drawn to my limit, but
I always spring back
anchored by hope, by
faith. I always stand
back up and run toward
happiness, waiting for its
embrace, like being scooped up
in the arms of a strong man,
who loves me even if I
can’t see the horizon,
and I’m constantly stuck
between continents in
death cold current.
I never drop. I never stop

-Tosha Michelle