The Grudge

image

I watered the grudge with a
fervent devotion of a priest
giving communion. I watered
it with the determination of
a drunk on his fourth glass
of gin. The destructive
clockwork of a not so
righteous self.

The cactus in my heart
erupting. I watered it everyday
with a can of venom. My hands
blistering over from the hate.
The fluid and its dark nutrients
taking root, until the petals
bloomed over and clotted my
brain, until there was nothing
left but arid air, laced with
regret, and the silence of
time wasted. The stale
taste of a garden grown
on the wreckage of malice
Gone. The long reign of
bitterness. The tight reign
of hurt feelings. The shards
of anger, shaken from my
eyes. I finally see the sterile
landscape clearly.

How the realization stings.

-Tosha Michelle

An Introvert Goes to a Party.

image

Tonight, I’d rather be home
getting lost in antique spines.
Craving the casual, yoga pants
and T-shirt. .Ditching this party
and dress. I can’t relate to
razzle dazzle, hoity toity
The desire for loud. My
symphony has always
been quiet.

These people
are a splinter in my isolated
hope chest for one. They
are a complex Allegory of
celebratory nothingness
Outward they glimmer
Inward, just a flicker.

I’m my own mistress of
distraction, mapping out
a poem in my head,
as some fool
in a too tight corset
tells me stories
about her latest boyfriend
who has a love for the
voluptuous and shallow.
The latter is just
an assumption on my
part.

As the clock ticks
inside my head,
sounding more
like bedtime, bedtime,
than tick tock. I note
the exit, I must reach
it before I’m tempted
to try hemlock.

I escape into wallpaper
border and sit down by
a napping cat. I stencil
my name on a gravestone
of banality and toss my
party dress off a bridge

I dissolve into particles
of light and reemerge in
bathwater of blessed
tranquility. I find kismet
with my bath mate, the
one I love-Solitude

We celebrate lavender and
quiet things. Afterwards,
I put on a night gown
of silence and
climb under a blue
comforter, under the
bluest of moon.
Finding serenity
in the stillness

-Tosha Michelle

The Invitation

image

I’m dreaming of you.
No, someone like you.

Someone who receives
my invitation and can’t
wait to come over.

My house, lit up by
moonshine and heart
light, awaits your arrival.

I bake a cake in expectation.
I’m hoping to sit with you
on the front porch, and
converse in real ways
where I can sit with my
legs crisscross and
not worry about how I look
with my hair up in a bun, no
make up on. You’ll look beyond
the shallow and see grace.

We’ll see our way to the
other side of the conversation,
your side, my side, our side.
And I won’t want more
than I have, now or before.

Did you receive my invitation?
My someone, my someone like you?
I’ve tenderly adjusted the view.
No backbends or recrimination,
not a single back wound.

Come over. The door and chapter remain open.
Rest here with me. Tell me a story.
One we don’t know the ending to.
We’ll make love’s revision
or write anew.

-Tosha Michelle

Barbed……….and………Wired

My friend Jane just started a photography blog. Her photos are magnificent. I really hope you will check out her work and follow. She’s a wonderfully complex person. Her photos reflect that. She has an eye for beauty and all things artistic.

Thank you kindly

Perceptions-Photography by Jane

While I was walking by, I thought to myself……….who is being kept in and who is being kept out.

wired

View original post

Some Men

image

Some men will kiss you
on the street and then
forget your name the
next time you meet.
Some men will study
you with the attention
of Michelangelo, taking
in every nuance
Beautifully engrossed.
You’ll revel in their
fascination.
Some men should be
frisked for secret
weaponry, always
out to butcher your
heart.

Some men are crazy,
but say it’s you instead.
Some men will tie you,
naked to the bed,
satiating your relentless
longing, until you wink
like a fine piece of China
licked clean.
Some men aren’t familiar
with knots or your G spot

Some men are cold
December their last address
Some men refuse to keep a
padlock on their libido,
never content in a single shed
Some men are like cherry cola,
a bag of pepperoni combos,
Oreo cookies, and licorice.
You’ll want to gorge straight
out of the vending machine,
but they’ll leave you with a sick
stomach and rotting teeth.
Some men are soft and sweet.
These you usually call friend

Some men are lost things
They stay on your tongue
Long after the last sentence
has been spoken
These are the ones you write
poems about. Poetry that lives
off of the debris of what was
Your litany to starry nights,
shared history, bourbon shots,
and the nostalgic route that
always looks more scenic
looking back.

Some men you’ll never forget
These are the ones you
surrender to.
The men that leave you
so wind altered all you can
do is fall.
They stay rooted in your heart
for life. You’ll find yourself
swaying to their phantom
breeze, long after they are gone
These are the men who teach
you about yourself.
They fold your soul back,
forcing you to look inside,
inspiring you, to rearrange
and change. -Some
men you’ll love eternally.
These are those men.

-Tosha Michelle