Journals

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The craving for them is on par
with my desire for chocolate
and James Purefoy.
It’s almost carnal, this longing I have
for the blank pages.
How I love to let the want fester and grow.
My mind a compass of yearning.
This urge to fill them with erotic possibilities,
kissing the pages with ink and language.
I approach them like a hopeful lover.

I don’t need shoes or jewelry or a line of men out my door.
I just need you to direct me to the nearest bookstore or stationary shop.
I can never get enough. I’m impractical, wanton, greedy…

My house is a shrine cover to cupboard. Any day now I expect them
to get together and throw a meet and greet.
I don’t know how they cope with the burden
of my chaotic musings, my erratic penmanship, my half truths,
my outright lies, my heart’s telling secrets.
I love them for never being judgy of my judgement.
Always there to offset any loneliness.
They are the most patient of listeners. I scrawl my confessions out
and there’s always another lovely page ready to learn more.
I confess I might need an intervention, journal rehab.
Until then it’s just me and my sweet notebooks
of beginnings where preservation and obsession
never end.

-Tosha Michelle

The Day After

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He’s somewhere between a
brother and a lover.
But not my brother or lover.
He says my sighs say broken.
And because he’s near I’m
transformed somehow.
The words sound different
when they come out of
my mouth.
My form has changed, even
the evergreens take notice.
I bathe in the dappled light
between the trees.
He takes my hand and leads
me down an uncharted road,
where no one has thought of easy.
He says December is the perfect month
for skinny dipping in Minnesota.

-Tosha Michelle

Upon Reaching for the Sky

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Inside her pocket
she keeps letters
she’ll never send,
and long lists.

She sits at the vanity,
brushing serenity out
of her golden hair.

Listening to lost rain
that’s surly meant to fall
anywhere but here.

Somewhere already green
and lush.

Her mind grieving winter brown

It’s February.

If she mailed her letters
and shared her lists,
who would read them?

She asked for a cup
of tears
The liquid burns
her tongue.

She listens for the
soft cadence of his voice.

Her heart repeats its inquiry.

Memories and reality
undefined.

-Tosha Michelle

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

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

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