Life is an imperfect story
And the poet leaves things out
My poem is telling.
But is it telling me?
Is my wordsmithing soulsmithing?
My pen taps on wood, in hopes of getting somewhere.
My mind uses words, as grapes uses wine
Glass by glass I pour myself
into the narrative
Endrunken wishes and longing,
secrets and half truth spill
red on the pages. revealing my broken
rain song, my ink crazed brains
-Tosha Michelle
For my lovely friend Alex. Thanks for being my pal, confidante, partner in crime, and fellow foodie.
You can follow his blog here: Lots of wonderful stuff there.
Niles, this one’s for you. xx
Tonight I surrender everything
I have left undone to the wind
broken promises, letters I wrote,
but never sent, almost loves,
lost loves, regret. No questions.
Why or how no longer matter
They’ve been used up by yesterday.
Some just hallucinations
along my misguided way.
I’ve lingered too long in bramble
My skin marred by briars
Looking to find my way out
by the light of others eyes.
Hoping someone would decipher
the hidden shapes of my soul.
Alone with the begotten shadows,
iilluminated by the moon
I find clarity. The answer in release..
In letting go, I become lighter
Besotted with the fever of liberation.
A lomg time gone now
I find myself.
I am free.
-Tosha Michelle
Sometimes everything is rhetorical
Everything is monochrome
My limbs wracked with rain
I tread gingerly.
I make promises I may not keep
Go on with my soltuide,
my soliloquy.
I’m almost out of words.
Knowing you cannot grasp
what you cannot hold
Things vanish all the time
And what is only left of me, is
me only.
-Tosha Michelle
We’re all in the dark
and it’s not early
Maybe not too late
We sleep in narrow beds
in rooms shimmering
and burning from a sickhearted
moon.
The stars reflect a defective hue.
We long for a powerful eclipse
or for a comet to appear.
Angels feet on fire.
Thinking our world is woven
by the fragile string of fate.
We waste the moonlight.
Gazing at static air.
-Tosha Michelle
Sometimes we have to
carry what we can and
discard the rest. I’ve
been talking inventory
of my life, trying to
decide what to leave
in, what to leave out.
My back sore from
the weighted
backpack of other
people’s burden I
lug around. I’m
cutting insanity from
my life with no written
apology. I’m burning
bridges so drama
can’t follow me home.
There are people I can’t
live without. People who
litter their bedroom’s floor
with clothes and always
forget where they put
their keys.
I do my best to give them
my time. I give them my right
not what’s left.
Tonight I say a prayer to
the God of humanity, to
give me people I can
love and dispense hope
to.
and the courage not to
wish away my plea.
Tosha Michelle
My heart is hungry
for what I didn’t know before
the light. The air.
The tree branches sway to
ghosts on the wind.
The grass, a graveyard of regret.
I walk away, knowing what comes after
can only be better.
Next time, I’ll find the one
who’s been looking for me.
The one who’s eyes search
the sky.
I won’t settle for less
than what I hope for.
I’ve shed claws and sprouted
wings. The moon nods its
approval. The crickets sing
a song of respect.
If you are not looking for me,
I don’t want to be found.
I’d rather stay in my shell
until my own resolve cracks
it open.
Free. I’ll listen to the spirits
of Dante and Beatrice,
and await the smoke signal
of someone who could matter.
Whether it’s the earth or me
who answers, depends on
the flame and the charred
particles of the dust of my heart.
-Tosha Michelle
Spring whispers when you are near.
Breathe your name into my ear.
Tell me your stories,
especially the ones
written on ancient tapestry.
Give me flower seeds I can plant.
I’ve stumbled through the bramble
to find you.
I was not seeking this knotty retreat,
but look how my leaves
have taken to the light.
Carry me to the highest treetop.
Fly with me on the wind.
Watch over me when my mind
plays peekaboo with the dark.
When I can’t locate myself on any map,
and I’m lost a land wishing to destroy me.
Give me the gold of your heart.
The stream of your resolve.
The pixie dust of your hands.
For me, at least, your magic is enough.
-Tosha Michelle
Everything I Never Told You 