Please excuse my absence. I have doctor’s note. Ha. Just not from that kind of doctor. You guessed it, a witch doctor. Ha! In reality, currently working on my post graduate degree. It’s keeping me pretty pretty busy. I haven’t had a lot of time to write poetry. I did take a day trip to the mountains recently and thought I would share some photos with you. Miss interacting with you all.
I’m tired of being love’s
recruit. I want to enlist
in hate
I wish there was a dose
of something that would
make me care less.
I’m tired of doing math, I
forgot a long time ago.
Tonight, I want to get
wrecked and call it
victory.
I want to sleep on the
deathbed of empathy.
and be reborn a cynic.
Instead, I’ll wake
tomorrow. Victory
sinking and thinking
love is as necessary
as a soul patch to
a hipster.
Never content to let
it rest. Always trying
to stitch it and people
back together.
Always a sucker
for Mahler and his
tragedies.
Always in tune with
the birds weeping
in the trees.
Never content to
hide in dark places
with the moon.
Always making
something out of
nothing that
isn’t there.
-Tosha Michelle
Old school style. Happy weekend, beautiful peeps xx
“Why do you keep a comin’ around playing with my heart?
Why don’t cha get out of my life and let me make a brand new start?
Let me get over you the way you gotten over me, yeah, yeah
Set me free why don’t cha babe
Get out my life why don’t cha babe (ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)
‘Cause you don’t really love me
You just keep me hangin’ on
No, you don’t really need me
You just keep me hangin’ on”
This is my elegy for those lost lines of poetry.
The ones that died in my mind,
when I was in the store, out on the town
or walking in the park.
Those times when pen and paper chose to stay
home and take a nap. My usually
fruitful memory-barren.
Go, little poem off to the land of word limbo,
out into nothingness.
The braids of forgotten syntax and out of sync time
will guide you. You’ll forever dwell with untold
stories, names unrecalled, and dreams unremembered.
What if and
what never was will comfort you.
I’ll mourn for you as I sit at my desk
staring at the unfulfilled pages, lonely,
for lines that came and died suddenly.
Erased between here and there.
Sentences that turned into ashes,
leaving only the residue of punctuation
and a memory of the moment
just before I forgot to remember.
-Tosha Michelle
Knowing that I’m less than a diamond,
no emerald or pearl, only mere glass.
I’m not afraid of being common,
or choking on insecurity’s bone.
I carry no bitterness in my veins.
Just a faulty valve of naivety.
My blood pulses with compassion.
The flow of humanity.
Brokenness, the barbedwire
fence I like to call my soul.
I trip over needle and thread
trying to sow a stronger spine.
I back tack kindness to my sleeve
and watch as my heart slips to the floor.
Hope perches on my breastbone.
I listen to it’s tune, wanting to soar.
It drowns out the murmurs
of negativity and doubt.
Finally unencumbered,
I sing along, the words repeat
“go on” “go on” “go on”.
-Tosha Michelle
.
Do you see him the man on the street?
His eyes that beseech
His lips that speak of
hopelessness and despair.
His thoughts and dignity
stolen by society,
and an anguished mind
The icy hands of circumstances,
taking his livelihood
held captive in poverty’s relentless grip
People walk by him in a rush
chasing unattainable goals,
slaves to the impotent narrative
of success. trying to impress,
spurred on by imperatives
devoid of substance
Passersby consumed by time
always in a race, a constant haste
teetered to an elusive dream
bankrolled by the Joneses
their blood and sweat
revenue in the stream of greed
Lusty mortals seduced by the
whorish temptress
that is corporate America
specializing in the cremation
of aspirations and inspiration
climaxing in the loss of morals
Strangers immune to plight of the homeless
They are too busy wagging the tail of the dog
Mindless sheep devoid of sovereign reason
spineless and passive, sowing empty seeds
paying on mind to the tolling of the bell
or the beggar on the street.
-Tosha Michelle
I sit. Heart in hand. I
create. Some of you
may turn away from
the blood. The red
spilling over. It’s OK
if you do.
Sometimes it scares
me too, but still I
hold it. Palms out.
I’m giving you what
frightens me. This
is me saying, yes, I’m
still here.
I give you my less than
moments, my insecurities,
my madness, my ideas
about life and love, my
shrine of longing.
My heart slipping from
my hands, falling past
my knees to the floor.
Falling toward your
shadow I hope you
will pick it up.
Feel the hopeful
beat that wars
with my still
soul and chaotic
mind. I give you
my wounds.
We connect through
our pain, my friend,
my reader. Through
the hornets in our
coffee cups. Our
syllables of what
we can’t forget.
As we suffer together,
fear becomes less.
Our hearts beat stronger
Place them on the
dashboard like a
plastic Jesus.
It’s doesn’t matter if
they leak on the
floorboard. It only
matters that we travel on,
even if we’ve misplaced
the map, even if our sanity
becomes displaced, even if
we drive down a reckless road
on a moonless night.
Understand, if we want
heaven and angels,
sometimes we have
to ride around with
our demons.
Understand, sometimes,
darkness is the heart of
life, of beauty, of art.
-Tosha Michelle
Abstract art by Yours Unruly
Hands Over Eyes
Stand behind me
Take your hands and
cover my eyes, so
I don’t see all
those doubts that
take flight in me,
so I have nothing new
to fear. No new
heartache to blindside me
Loss always coming
unannounced.
Whisper filthy things
in my ear, so I can
breathe deep your words,
drowning out the
voices in my head
screaming “be cautious”
Imploring me to not
be so reckless with
another one so
intoxicating.
Give me new skin
to touch
so I no longer feel
like a castaway
in dark harbor
full of scabs and scales
Let me feel your warmth,
as hope slips inside me.
Face to face now.
You teach me that
everything opens
with time- eyes. minds,
and even a heart damaged
by love undone.
-Tosha Michelle
Everything I Never Told You 
