Today I don’t love you.
No. I don’t think I do.
Although I was sure
once I never loved you
before.
But now that I don’t love
you. I’m sure I did
love you once before.
Yes, I most definitely
loved you before.
And if tomorrow, I no
longer love you, then
today perhaps I do
love you, like I loved
you once before.
-Tosha Michelle
He gives me a love story
for the underworld.
A tale with holes in the
pockets, and cracked mirrors
Serenades me with songs that
could kill spiders in frequency.
Revealing ardor distilled.
Solid? Vapor?
He forges a bridge,
spins me around.
I find breath in the
centripetal force.
We’re always lost somewhere
between either and neither,
between criss and cross
He jumps.
I fall.
Eyes closed,
following in his wake.
He makes a path
for me into
desirable delectable
or delectable destruction.
I sink, under and under,
inside a paradox.
I become the dark residue of
the earth on a moonless night,
where the sky doesn’t exist.
And still I don’t think
I’m there yet.
I’m still holding stones
between my teeth
Grasping for the promise of-
something sinful, after-
-Tosha Michelle
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
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
Tracy it’s a gifted poet and a very sweet lady. I hope you will check out her work and follow.
Source: A lover of words, a poem for Tosha Michelle by Tracy Diane Miller
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
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.
From a distance
I make out his shadow.
My eyes cling to the bruised
way he stands.
Below him lies a sunlit garden.
Green, luminescent.
The dew is so heavy it must sit down.
The breeze feels like a hopeful lover.
There’s nothing I don’t see in him.
Beauty’s edge.
The tip of grace.
The hint of masculinity.
He’s in my misshapen skull,
below the skin.
I’m drawn to his sensual gravity
I wish fabric away on a four
leaf clover.
Under his clothes I’m bare
I plummet. I fall for-
toward his sexy order,
Shifting heat, molten.
Release is found on impact.
-Tosha Michelle
My cover of “Million Dollar Man”
Listen to “Million Dollar Man” Lana Del Rey Cover (piano and vocals) by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud
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
The poet wanted to write
a happy poem,
something summery.
But as soon as she wrote it down,
the words, misstated the season,
and cried in that reserved,
closed-mouth way, much like
Southern belles sometimes do.
The poem tried to hold
back the sobs, to submit
to whimsical metaphors.
But it was too besot by sadness,
to enthralled with winter.
The line shuttering.
Finding preservation in angst.
The poet resigned to
the poem’s fate
decides it’s better
to pull the blinds down,
cultivate the poem’s sickness,
reside inside blue.
Feed the pen the toxins.
Knowing the poem
doesn’t want the elixir.
It only finds artistry
in the pain.
-Tosha Michelle
Abstract art by Brat Inc aka Me.
And today its been…
Everything I Never Told You 