Miniscule

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I am less than.
My insignificance a common thing.
I’m a particle of dust but even I
sparkle in certain light.
At night I float around pages
filled with words that
no one will remember.
I sing a melancholy tune.
Bare and ruined.
I pray to the God of dust bunnies,
who is adored or loathed by all
the other particles.

Everyday we lift up our dusty eyes
to the ceiling, hoping for a skylight
to reveal the heavens. All the while
awaiting our death sentence by rag.
Resigned to our fate we conversed
with the ashes and await our downfall.

-Tosha Michelle

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Of Trains and Beautiful Men

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The man on the train
accidentally touches
my hand and in that instant
a dogwood leaf lands
on the rain kissed glass.
It flinches against the
window pane.

The man is distinguished,
in his elegant suit and
periwinkle shirt.
I can tell he is
used to being admired
by women.
The leaf makes its way
up the glass.
I can feel the warmth
of his thigh
as it rubs up against
mine with every thrust
of the train.
I would be so proud
if he were mine.

Our eyes connect. Hold.
His pulling me forward
His face is tender.
I imagine he believes in
Shakespeare, distant ships,
stray winds, Miles Davis,
the sweet sound
of needle to
groove.

I bite my lip to keep
from moving closer.
I want the warmth
of his name
in my mouth.
There’s an erotic energy
between us.
He reduces me to ashes,
I never want to brush
off.

What if we started
a conversation?
What if he gave himself
over to me?
What if he touched me
there and there?

The trees sway and
blur in the window.
The clouds look like satin
sheets we could lie in.
His beauty makes
my eyes ache.
His full lips, a glazy
pastry’s crust.

He jolts against me,
his arm brushes my breast,
I become a shivering thing
as the train comes to
a stop.

He wears me out
and I don’t even
know his name.

-Tosha Michelle

My second attempt at “Use Somebody”- Kings of Leon Cover.

Ready

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There’s no hiding place left
for my soul.
The dark spaces have all been
lit, filled with a warm glow.
My flesh radiates heat, my skin
alive. My eyes giving me away.

Should I run? Try and find a dark alley
somewhere? The street lights shaped
like hearts seem to say “be still”.
But I’m afraid. I want to close my eyes.
But I know I’ll just end up peeping.
Finally believing in the voice I hear counting.
Knowing I don’t want to be invisible anymore.
I’m ready to be found.

-Tosha Michelle

Just Breathe

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Sometimes the air around us is foreign.
Our lungs adopting to the atmosphere.
Knowing. Unknowing. We await
as the intervals thicken or thin.
Will the air become audible?
Will the seasons brighten or dim?
Do we lay store or forge ahead?
Is it enough to seek answers to questions
or is the living in the doing?
A thought held close built around another
thought is of no use if it sits braced to
a chair reluctant to breathe the air.

-Tosha Michelle

The Chill

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Sometimes when the world and people become too much to take
I develop winter brain: a sort of icy mindfulness
where I embrace the chill and long to hibernate
with the bears, while the snowbird helicopters
over the frozen lake harassing the air and
frost bite lingers on my soul.
My heart a solid ice sheet hasn’t a care.
I inhale the silence while the palest of
green fights to break through.
For a moment at least, I remain
as cold and calm as the
white of the snow overspread
on the ground.

-Tosha Michelle