Month: March 2016

Suffused

Published on by Tosha Michelle75 Comments

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I write my life in black
and blue.
I’m the girl suffused with
exclamation marks
and dramatic pauses.
My words infused
with dust.
The counter winds of my mind.
Years linger on the windowsill.
The past flows from the
same white cup.
Memories arrive like Jehovah’s Witnesses
on my front doorstep.
Fragments of my life
trying to convert me.
Pestering me to revert back.
Trying to lure me out with
promises of redemption.
I reattach myself
one line at a time.
Slipping from grey
into lavender.
Bound to advance
not retreat, I vow
to right my upside down heart
by the slip of pen
and the exorcism of yesterday.
I slice myself in threes
and write my riddle of release
over paper full of
missteps and scars.

-Tosha Michelle

Roses Are Red

Published on by Tosha Michelle65 Comments

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I have no time to think of you
so instead I’ll think of something else.
I know the color red. I’ll think of things that are red.
Roses? No, that’s too cliche. Apples? Too tempting.
Blood? That’s different. Yes, I’ll think of blood
and it’s healing properties or maybe I’ll contemplate
a life of crime but on second thought that’s a bit psychotic.
Perhaps, I’ll just watch TV to fill the void.
Endless reality shows. I’ll hang on to the Kardashians
drawn out whines or try to understand why
Blake is dating Gwen and not Adam. How comforting it all is.
If I wanted to write a poem on absurdity.

I remember the red rose bush in my Granny’s backyard.
How lovely it was even when the thorns pricked my thumb.
My mind back on red. It really is the most vibrant of colors.
Who doesn’t love a blood red sky? Rough love does, surely,
the dessert too. Not much green there, is there?
I think the moon finds its groove in that kind of terrain,
not impressed with leafy, easy things.
The air smells like steel tonight. I think I’ll hold on to it.
Breath it in. Exhale my thoughts. Funny how, all I think about
to not think about you turns into all I think about because of you.

-Tosha Michelle

Journals

Published on by Tosha Michelle67 Comments

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The craving for them is on par
with my desire for chocolate
and James Purefoy.
It’s almost carnal, this longing I have
for the blank pages.
How I love to let the want fester and grow.
My mind a compass of yearning.
This urge to fill them with erotic possibilities,
kissing the pages with ink and language.
I approach them like a hopeful lover.

I don’t need shoes or jewelry or a line of men out my door.
I just need you to direct me to the nearest bookstore or stationary shop.
I can never get enough. I’m impractical, wanton, greedy…

My house is a shrine cover to cupboard. Any day now I expect them
to get together and throw a meet and greet.
I don’t know how they cope with the burden
of my chaotic musings, my erratic penmanship, my half truths,
my outright lies, my heart’s telling secrets.
I love them for never being judgy of my judgement.
Always there to offset any loneliness.
They are the most patient of listeners. I scrawl my confessions out
and there’s always another lovely page ready to learn more.
I confess I might need an intervention, journal rehab.
Until then it’s just me and my sweet notebooks
of beginnings where preservation and obsession
never end.

-Tosha Michelle

Going Under

Published on by Tosha Michelle89 Comments

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The seasons change, we peel off our regrets
But still look for an opening in the air.
Love always leaves a residue, a stain.
The slate always slightly smudged.
Our hearts striations of clouds.
Memories come and go
with its fountain
of nostalgia flowing over
us without warning.
Blurring the landscape of
time until it unfolds back.
Dividing then from now.
Dividing soul from sanity,
until all that remains is an
oracle, an empty beach
dark waves of sorrow,
a tide long since receded and
an icy wind blowing in yearning
from yesterday’s yesteryears

-Tosha Michelle