American Honey

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I miss childhood,
when I could climb trees,
unencumbered by branches.
The delicate days new born,
when hope came in dancing in
from the backyard and stayed
for Sunday dinner.
Endlessly long days that
always seem to fade into
sunsets and deliriously delectable
dreams of dandelions and
determined alliteration.
There, nights were made
of lightening and a well lit horizon-
the symphony neverending.

Now life has uprooted that sense
of joy, of ignition.
These days I’m just sound
slighted, the residue
of the morning mist,
burnt out on the melody.
Longing for backyard green,
the verve, the contentment.

-Tosha Michelle

Only One

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She only wants to bare her body
to one man, only one to know her bones,
the sighs of her mouth, of her heart,
the naked parts of her soul.

Only one man to strip down her voice,
to breathe back her breath,
only one to know the wilderness of her desire,
to know only one man calls out to her in his dreams,
speaking her name as if it were pagan as if
it were a psalm.

She wants uncompromising totality, the near impossible breath
from water, fire, bare, possession unclothed, belonging to one man,
his being inside of her, the only one she wants
to want. His bones. Her bones. Belonging.

She wants one man, only one, to undress his soul for her only.
Knowing that it won’t always be easy
some nights his heart might ache
for the touch of new bones, the unknown breath,
the unclothed breath of someone less difficult,
but she will honor that ache and sooth it with her sweetness,
breath after loving breath, speaking to her one man,
her only.

-Tosha Michelle

Photo courtesy of lostkat

Seasoning the Seasons

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Remember youth, eating pizza at 3 a.m. and wearing t-shirts that declared anarchy? Remember the blind faith in yourself and the world? Looking back, I want that innocence. I want more of the sun, the garden, the high notes. I want time to stay green. Maybe if I pretend I can’t see it. I’ll be the ship sailing on an ocean of oblivion, not yet knowing I’m at the horizon’s mercy.

Is it really about time, though, or my desire for time? Do I want to spend my life avoiding the clock’s vibrations?

Come rest by me, take my hand and we’ll watch day stumble into evening. As I look into your soulful eyes. I think perhaps, I don’t want to be young again. Maybe it’s better if we invite every tragedy, and wisdom learned to sit here beside us. I want maturity rolling on our tongues when our mouths mate. I want the years naked between us, drinking from our wine.

Maybe, as we rest here in the stillness of twilight, the sky will open for us, showering us with petals and what we don’t want to see will seem softer, tender. And we’ll welcome whatever comes next with our t-shirts of wisdom, knowing there are still horizons yet to unfold.

-Tosha Michelle

Then Sings My Soul

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I once sang of faith
with unwavering clarity.
Certainty in every note.
The wild berry of a purple heart,
noble and true until hope unlatched,
fear reaching it’s breaking point.

How quickly the fruit
turnned bitter on my tongue.
Now I struggle to hold on
to the melody,
whispering my song
through broken lungs.

-Tosha Michelle

Bedtime Benediction

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Come to bed.

We’ll nestle like a pair of saucers.

Let me press my breasts

into your back,

my hand over your heart,

Even when I can’t sleep

it’s a comfort to feel

your breaths,

to take notice of

the strength of your body

There’s a lullaby in the way

your skin unfurls.

My lips drift across

your shoulder

in three quarter time.

Every second edible

in its sereneness.

This mouthy soulful love

and a kiss for the infinite

I snuggle closer and whisper

a bedtime prayer of praise

for life and the small reasons.

-Tosha Michelle

Human- The Name of Her Being

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Imagine the soulless trafficker
holding a young girl’s life in his hands.

Imagine the young girl in front of him,
eyes glazed from the heroin
he’s forced her to inject.

The unturned years stolen.

Her body’s lexicon
the clamor of sharks to blood,
the swarm of hornets.

Raped. Beaten. Used up.
Innocent debased.

He’s taken it all.
Leaving burnt trunk and a once
flourishing root decimated.

Imagine sprayed bullets,
sparkling on the
grimy warehouse floor.

Imagine the now bulging
eyes of the child, the girl
who doesn’t stop being dead.

The tragic wreckage of greed
splayed on the ground.

Let her gone dreams haunt you.
Don’t allow her to become
an apathetic byte on the news,
incapable of ruining your family’s dinner.

For a moment at least,
be conscious, not comfortable.

Allow her to bare her teeth
and demand that you see her loss.

This child, born into a world
she couldn’t overcome.

Let her eyes be a memory,
that the universe
isn’t always civilized
or wash and wear

Let her blood spill on everything,
the table cloth, the fine china,
the prettily pressed clothes.

See her. Feel her pain.
Let her shadow be your shadow.
If only for a moment, look back.

Hear her whispering her name.
Let her name be your name.
Human. The name of her being.
The name of your being.

-Tosha Michelle

All American Girl

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I wish I could look through fog,
live the serene life
be content to catch
the sun I can.

I, who’ve been pressed
and molded into
some American dream,
feel more confined
than liberated.

The back story- I’m more
a wanderer than a watcher
More enticed by the exotic
than familiar. I confess.
I’m unsettled.

Today’s wind tugs at me.
The sky urges me to fly.
My mouth hungry for the nectar
of fallen fruit

Inside my heart, an escape plan.
Outside my body glued
to habit and structure.

Rebellion turns my head.
It clings to me like mist.

Briefly, my ribs expand and
I flutter before reality
pulls me back.
Heaving then settling.
Leaving me with
the sticky aftereffects
and in that interlude,
I know my soul would soar
if my mind would only
let it.

-Tosha Michelle

My cover of “Underneath” by Adam Lambert. This song has so much meaning for me. (Dedicated to Heather, Niles, Jane, Terry, Larry, Jennifer,Ian, Diane and all my lovely friends. Thanks for putting up with me.

Self Help to Self Harm: The Dubious Guide to Life, Love, and Relationships

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This is an excerpt from a silly little book I wrote called Self Help to Self Harm: The Dubious Guide to Life, Love, and Relationships. You can find it on Amazon. But save your money, a lot of it can be found here on this site. I suck at self promotion. It’s okay, because I’m so good everything else. I’m kidding.

Men, what you need to know about women:

1. We women like to be taken, but not in a way that requires our fathers to bring out their particular set of skills. You know, the ones they have acquired over their long career. No, we want be taken up against the wall, on the dinning room table, the bathroom counter, on your desk, etc. We love to feel wanted and desirable. Dominate us in the sexiest way possible.

2.Tears are not a sign of weakness. It’s OK to be sensitive (unless you’re crying because you have nothing to wear, or you missed a “Real Housewives” episode)

3 There are two places tighty whities belong, on babies, or in the trash.

4. The vacuum cleaner and mop will not bite you. Go ahead, try them on for size. I dare you.

5 Sometimes all we need to hear is “No, honey, let me do it.”

6.Cologne is sexy, but no need to bathe in it.

7. A kiss on the hand at the right time can be quite lovely, at the wrong time, equally as creepy.

8. By all means, be the man in the relationship when it comes to killing bugs, or opening jars. We don’t mind.

9. However, never tell us what to do. EVER!

10. We want to be your muses but not in a sleazy photographer kind of way. We long to bring out your inner Shakespeare, not Larry Flynt.

11. Withhold nothing. We need to know where all the carbon goes, and why prime numbers remain a mystery. I’m looking at you, Riemann hypothesis. Why is it all so weird? Oh, and everyone you have ever dated, and what you had for lunch, and how your day was, and what your brother said on the phone. Etc
.
12. Your mother was right, manners matter. Prove to us chivalry is not dead.

13. Please don’t tell us to calm down. You calm down!

14. I mentioned this last time but felt the need to reiterate, no, we do not want to see a picture of the little engine that could. Keep it wrapped up, buddy, until sexy time (which reminds me, never call sex, sexy time.)

15. Just because your friends might find us appealing doesn’t mean we want to to be with them. (unless your friends are Timothy Olyphant or Jon Stewart)

16. Please talk about your feelings. We want to know what’s going on in those heads of yours. However, we don’t have to have a come to Jesus meeting or an Oprah moment.

17. Douchebaggery is never a winning look. Wear compassion and humanity instead.

18.There’s nothing hotter than a man with tools, unless it’s a man with a book.

19. We like wearing your old college sweatshirt or sleeping in your t-shirt. Prepare to share. It makes us feel close to you.

20. All we need is affection, attention, love, chocolate — and a guy with a big…………………………………………………………….

brain.

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The British Are Coming

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If you aren’t following this lovely whackadoo, you’re missing out on some pretty terrific stuff.(See link below) God, it pains me to write that. He’ll get that. You won’t.

I’d like to keep him all to myself but where’s the blog love in that? I encourage you to follow the link and the yellow brick road. I promise you’ll like the man behind the curtain. I don’t, of course, but that’s another story 😉 Seriously, check him out 

No. 2095 – http://wp.me/p27egX-2Ko