Author: Tosha Michelle

Poet. Author. Podcast host- Chit Chat Chicks. MS Purdue. Proponent of words, creativity, kindness, and humanity.

The Next Big Thing

Published on by Tosha Michelle87 Comments

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Big ideas are everywhere,
from religion to capitalism.
There’s always someone
trying to sell us something.
I’m burnt out on the peddling.
I just want to be left on the
side of the road while I still
have a little sanity.
Let nature stand for all I believe in.
As for faith, I’ll leave that to the sun.

We all die in the end,
the good, the bad,
the blissfully indifferent.
It doesn’t matter how well
you sing the hymn,
or if you know the slogan
by memory.

Life is freshly pressed and
the creases only hold for so long.
I’d like to believe in
the lottery, mail in rebates,
and a free trip to Hawaii.

In my crisis of faith,
I have moments where I wonder
if we all just fade to dust.
Our molecules scattered
in the wind.
Left with nothing but our
collective darkness,
where there are no charge
off or loopholes.

All I know for certain
is I know nothing.
Oh to have the wisdom of Solomon.
I look for assurance
in the clouds.
Punching the fog.
I fall back on my upbringing.
close my eyes and
pray for grace.

-Tosha Michelle

Falling 

Published on by Tosha Michelle53 Comments

The air crisp with autumn
implores the trees
and me to fall under its spell
The clouds dust the
sun away as if to say not
even grey can eradicate
such a perfect day.

The leaves even refuse
to say goodbye content to
hang around on the
ground. Devoting their last
hours to maple tips
and the call of Jack Frost.

My cares lossen by the wind
and the aesthetics
of burnt red and pine artistry.
Charmed by the earthy
scent of October.
I await a a sliver bone moon
Content with the early
dark beauty.. Its curves and edges
The voluptuous figure
of a falling fall.

-Tosha Michelle

Just Stop

Published on by Tosha Michelle34 Comments

I want to reside inside the voice
of a Tibetan monk
And be lulled to sleep by the silence.
Instead the irritating cadence
of political discourse
Uncivil and unholy
The hills alive with the sound
of madness.
The breeze tinged with malice
even the birds
feel forsaken. Aimlessly looking
for just one branch
of grace. The tree limbs breaking
under the weight of
an uncertain future.
We beseech the earth for guidance.
Warring with hot air.
Hoping the world will revolve anew.

The axis and rhetoric
spin on.

-Tosha Michelle

Interview With Tosha Michelle

Published on by Tosha Michelle6 Comments

I was interviewed by the exceptional and talented Amanda from Mandibelle16 If you get a chance check it out. She really came up with a wonderful set of questions.

Amanda is also a gifted poet. Her poetry is full of depth and beauty. If you aren’t following her, you should be.

Mandibelle16's avatarMandibelle16

Happy Monday! Welcome to my bi-weekly interview series. I am happy to share with you September’s second interview: the fascinating, beautiful, and gifted poet,Tosha Michelle from the blog — Everything I Never Told You: Lucidly In Shadows, Poetry From A Hand That Writes Misty. 

Please take a look at her blog here: Everything I Never Told You

Tosha Michelle

1. Tell Us About Yourself Tosha? 

My name is Tosha Michelle and I hail from the land of grits and sweet tea. I’m a poet and author of two books — Confessions of a Reformed Southern Belle and Self Help toSelf Harm. The first is a chapbook and contains some of my earlier poems. The latter is my silly take on the self help genre. I’ve written things since I was a child but I didn’t take up blogging until about five-years-ago.I’m also an abolitionist and Academia addict. I’m…

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Talk Me Down

Published on by Tosha Michelle9 Comments

“I wanna sleep next to you
But that’s all I wanna do right now.
And I wanna come home to you.
But home is just a room full of my safest sounds.
‘Cause you know that I can’t trust myself with my three A.M. shadow.
I’d rather fuel a fantasy than deal with this alone.
I wanna sleep next to you.
But that’s all I wanna do right now.
So come over now and talk me down”.

Reasoning 

Published on by Tosha Michelle29 Comments

I must write to make sense
of emotions eclipsed,
sometimes before they begin.
I must write to find congruence
with those brief flashes of reality
that my heart likes
to distort in an effort
to help me live a life
that sometimes fails.
But it’s always infused with a
dysfunctional shot
of sugar and optimism.
I do my best to honor the upsurge,
but wallow in the gutter of melancholy
from poem to poem,
memory a friend and foe to
living, is cleansed through the
written word. The language
clotted by how I chose to
abandon or fashion the
hour of my regret or reprieve.

-Tosha Michelle 

Unsustainable

Published on by Tosha Michelle48 Comments

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That fall he carried his notepad everywhere.
And on those crisp evenings,
I felt him shape and merge
words with paper.
Above us an inky sky,
and I longed to be nothing
but the syntax and nuances
taking form in his mind.

I rest my head on his shoulder,
watching the swaying of his pen.
I become one with the shuddering lines,
that won’t be still.
They reach out and caress my heart.
Stalling my breath.
Touching me here and here.
For a moment, I’m what he shapes.
What he imagines.
I glimmer in edges of the dark lines,
until the words splinter from me

The lines, like the writer,
elusive as the stray wind.

-Tosha Michelle

Old Love Letters 

Published on by Tosha Michelle64 Comments

Imagine discovering a box
of old love letters.
At first glance the language
is hard to decipher,
written in the secret code
of lovers.
A past you can barely
recall. The girl
you were long since gone.
You marvel at his
dotted Is and counterstrokes,
knowing now he had
something to hide, that he
left no clues.
But now you know to read the
movement, the pattern
of his hands. You’ll trace
the beauty and betrayal
of young love by
the placement of
the periods, the allusions
and faulty script.
The blueprint of  heartache
and blue  eyes.

-Tosha Michelle

No Turning Back.

Published on by Tosha Michelle47 Comments

The well-traveled river has been everywhere one could imagine. Discerning, dividing, cutting deep into rocks. It’s seen it all. Everything has been done and said where it comes from. Yet, it still longs to return to the sea. I dip my toes into its water. The tide pushing against me, the waves echo another time and place, and a long ago hurricane far enough away now that the river should have forgotten. Yet its heart is still filled with rhe memory of seaweed. The shore, not satisfied with the sway of the waves taunts the river. Flaunting its erosion in its face.

-Tosha Michelle