When The All of Me Fails.

When my life becomes
hard. I write away in
my notebook of dreams
that lives on my desk.
I take a short cut through
ink to be with it.
My pen
of angst spilling out
particles of love. desire,
I wonder how the pages
can ingest them all. My
constant purging of
emotions. Trying to
convey with words
truth before time
distorts it and it
becomes an artifact in
the Museum of
UnNatural History.
At times the fog
likes to exert control
over my verse. Longing
tend to be blind to
reality and reason.
It never sees things
as they are. The poet
trying to alter the
past and its asterisk
Poetry becomes a
contraption of denial.
Truth fight its way
through pages
watermark by tears
to sit on my back
like a weighed
pack, pulling
down hard on the
straps. Reminding me
how flimsy
my poetry and life
would be without it.

-Tosha Michelle 


56 thoughts on “When The All of Me Fails.

  1. Can’t like this, as WP is being a shit once more, but I do like it…a lot!
    Maybe WP is being a shit because I’ve been too wrapped up in my own bollocks to drop by and say “how do!”
    Fickle fecker!
    How do?
    And you changed the style of things!
    Like that too.
    I wish I could like you, though.
    I suppose, as the great philosopher of evening meals, Meatloaf, says: 2 out of 3 ain’t bad.
    Tatty bnoooo

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Beautiful. Perhaps poetry allows you to tell the truth, for as much it allows you to deny it. You need aplace to write both truth, and your own version, so yes without poetry, you probably wouldn’t be happy.

    Liked by 1 person

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