And Everything. And Nothing..


I gave you my love
You gave me your disregard.
I lived with it.
Feeding on the bramble.
You left me at daybreak
But as night fell, I still
waited for you, everywhere.
Trying to tape the fallen
leaves back to the trees.
You were just an illusion
on the way to winter’s frost.
This is nothing no one
has never written before.
Injuries manifested in black ink.
The dimmer the light to write
becomes, the more I have
to say to you.
Now even your bare branches
have left me
This the greatest hurt of all.
All that’s renains is a disquieted
ghost, a flickering of fireflies.
This is the life of us
All the cells meant for dying.
I deserve better luck than you.
You deserve karma’s acid touch
But still I wish you well.

All that’s lost is found in the eyes of spring.
Eyes that love my beauty, not just the
outer part, but what
lies within.
The imperfect probable
mess that is me.
A season that see me as salvageable.
As someone who belongs
in the memoirs of its life.
This is my karma.
Sunlight that finally follows me.

-Tosha Michelle

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No. 3905

Hey y’all. Check out the original Brit’s blog. This guy has been a good friend to me for the last few years. Just when I think he’s gone, he’s back again, in full cheeky mode. Funny, how he pops up just when I need a pick me up. He’s one of the few people who really gets me and still likes me. He accepts me as I am, and always makes me feel special and appreciated. You know the type that would give you a big hug anf be happy to pose in pictures with you making silly faces, and post them everywhere. The type  who thinks you’re cool, not for how you look, but for who you are as a person and never makes you feel less than. He will also make you up some onion gravy, but gross to that. 

You’ll love his poetry and quirky nature. He’s fun to insult too, but maybe, that’s just fun for me. Ha!  Really though great guy and his girlfriend is an amazing photographer. I mean she even makes him look good! 😜

Madstoffa's crunchy house!

Wonder Why. By C A Middleton © 2018

The mirror to his psyche smashed.

The curtain’s torn; his temple trashed.

He sees no way of shaking

The wart-ridden effigy of self.

His mountain’s crumbled into dust.

The frame of fortune turned to rust.

The signs are pointing further

From any personal wealth.

The time has come to wonder

Why the sun still shines.

As he attempts his damnedest

To erase the previous lines.

The birds have all got tonsillitis.

They croak as they try to delight us.

The clouds are full of shit

Sprinkling on our heads.

Marvin Gaye is scratched and weak.

The demons are the ones to keep.

They pray upon our hands and feet

As we curl in bed.

The time has come to wonder

Why the sun still shines.

As he attempts his damnedest

To erase the previous lines.

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He Never Loved Me

Reckless Heart

What the wise doubt, the fool
believes-
Who is it, then, that love
deceives?
-Louise Bogan


He never loved me.
where others saw a nightingale
to him, I was just a fractured claw.
Still, I gave him the gift of song

He never loved me,
yet he came into my life
trumpets blaring, the way
cream falls over coffee
on a cold December morning.

I wanted to compose him in
in sunlight, instead it was
a melody full of rain.
The sound of something injured,.
a sky broken by ash,.
The wind exhaling regret
only hinted of brighter things

He never loved me.
His heart always
lying in the tense past.
which he saw as tender.
Our future nothing more
than stick figures sitting by
nostalgia’s tree. Me grieving
for him. His mind always
on another.

The after…

Nowadays the raindrops have
arranged themselves in
a pattern of forgetfulness
My misplaced heart finding
purchase in a blade of grass
that breathes life into the
whole landscape.
How lovingly those with eyes
open prepare the earth for
love’s sake.

The gentle brush of lips
across my forehead
reminds me that their still
summertime tunes to be sung.
My lungs alive with promise
My ears no longer attuned
to darknesss.

-Tosha Michelle

A Mindful Poem 


In the brief tranquil reprieve
just before dust.
You don’t notice how
high the wind is
or the bitter in the cold

The night may carry a
satchel of bramble.
But for now you close
your eyes and listen to
the music of the air.

Focusing on the amber length
of the hour.
Your dormant heart made
melodic like a harp touched
by skilled hands

You realize you deserve more
than shuttering light and
shifting shadows. 

You who are besotted with
the fever of a waltz
And moonlit rivers
on the way to sea.

No matter how awkward your
gait, you know grace is
found in a soul that won’t
be nettled and a mind
made beautiful by the swarm
of fireflies.

You, this lady and warrior
who gets by on Southern
charm and the rhythm of
a drum that beats in three-quarter time.
Here. where prim
and proper meets sas and grit.

You who are singularity lovely
but hideous too.
A mess of colors, hungry
You refuse to live a sepia life.

For a moment as you watch
the sun set, you don’t dwell
on failed arithmetic or Dostoevsky
and his sullen things.

Instead, you reflect on the wonder
of aliveness and compose yourself
in a poem, composure found in a view
redefined . You rearrange the disquieting
into a sliver canopy of serenity.
Finding peace in your eccentricity.

-Tosha Michelle

My latest cover-Sign of the Times with a little Human thrown in

Just Go


Flowers of what is pollinated
by bees of what might have
been. Mundane afternoons married
to evenings of TV and ringtones
that have forgotten how to ring.
An old journal reminds her
it’s not too late
to resurrect a dream or lost
shimmer, to right her caddy-corner
heart left askew by
a lover’s hands. She grasps
for the notes under air,
leaving the past to glide
past and out the door.
She bows to the cartography of light
and presses the guidebook to
her chest. Knowing it’s time
to rise and go, to spiral out
into the unmoored and unknown.

-Tosha Michelle