My poetry knows how to
sing the blues.
It finds rhythm in lost loves,
an empty room, a whiskey shot.
It’s cadence of roving eyes
a wallet devoid of
cash. the desire to stay.
The need to go.
Misery flows from lyrics
that refuse to let it fold.
My poetry channels
Ella Fitzgerald and
dissonant chords of a broken
someone.
It thrives on restless things and memories
that come to life in a song
Moaning the words so fervently, the ink drips
to save me, even when I’m out of tune.
And I can only glimpse
where I’ve been, not where I’m going.
The want for new history
and a new song spurs the poet on.
-Tosha Michelle
And on a u related and happy note. I am in love with this song. It takes me to a serene place.




