It Kind of Is.

It Kind of Is.
By Tosha Michelle.

Miley and Nietzsche had it right.
It’s all about the climb.
I’ve charted many a mountain.
Hanging only by a thread.
Hope found in a spider’s web.
My limbs have felt like lead.
With bloody knuckles and knees.
Bruises for all to see.
I’ve ran into jagged impermeable stone.
Yet I rose higher and higher.
Fighting against the hourglass.
And dreams lost
I climbed.
Dragging myself toward the light.
Testing my worth.
I reached the summit in time to see
The dawning of the sun.
The breeze reborn, fresh as a new day.
I breathe in the substance of faith.
Exhaling doubt.

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Winter Wasteland

I step out into the winter of my mind.

Glancing around at the desolate architecture

Of walls with no doors.

Windows with no views.

Wrapped in sanity loose scarf.

I constantly beg for its touch.

My extremities crave its clarity and warmth.

The harsh chill of insecurity and doubt taunt me.

The frost of fear lingers in the air.

I expose myself to the elements.

The biting wind of change chills my static bones.

Forcing me to move.

The grey day is getting shorter.

I must find a way to make it over the frozen mountain of uncertainty.

I will not be a victim of my own circumstances.

The glow of resiliency lies just beyond the steel cages of my hypothermic mind

-Tosha Michelle

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Transparent Shell

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He hides his coldness behind a mask of charm.
His true intentions only to disarm.
Lies escape his lips
That never tell.
He plays the game so well.
He is an obsession
A handsome vision
With one glance you’ll be smitten.
He’ll wrap you up tight in his contradictions.
Fanning the flames
Of your incineration.
-Tosha Michelle

On and Off

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On and Off

This last year was like Gilbert Gottfried’s voice.
Annoying and hard to forget.
Well-meaning, I suppose
And quite a funny darling to some.
This last year was akin to reading Kant
Difficult to understand and once learned
Excessively demanding in its requirements.
No lesson comes without pain.
There’s renewal in regret.
I run away from self-loathing and apathy
into stirring truths and shameless living.
And a new year made up of only sexy, sassy things.

-Tosha Michelle

 

Random song. This takes me back to London and the O2 The year-2009. There’s a story there. Next time.

 

 

 

 

 

Murphy’s Law (the good kind)

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My Granny was Southern and Irish (a fierce combination) She was full of wisdom, spunk, and character. Lois Murphy didn’t suffer fools, and she wouldn’t put up with any “backtalk” She was also one of those Grandmothers, who always reminded us grandkids of the hardships she had to endure growing up. You know the type to talk about walking ten miles to school and back in three feet of snow. Although, we lived in the South, and snow was often hard to come by. Still, reflecting back, there were life lessons in all of these talks. It was from my Granny, I learned that pretty is as pretty does, that those chores won’t up and “git” done themselves, and that judging a book by its cover is rarely a good idea. When she spoke of a simpler time, a time without TV, where families conversed, and children entertained themselves by playing in the fields. I recall as a child thinking, how tragic for them. Looking back now as an adult, I think how wonderful. I ponder what I would say to my children if I had a” back in my day” talk. It would probably go something like this.

You know kids, when I was your age, real housewives, were just that real. The situation, was something you did not want to get into, although to be fair, I think that still holds true; in order to even be a quasi-celebrity, one had to have at least a modicum of talent for things like singing, dancing, and acting. It wasn’t enough to just be rich, good looking and have a flare for drama, and sleaze.. In order to achieve hero status, one had to do something heroic and noble Substance, style, and class, meant just that. Social networking involved hanging out on the playground or pajamas parties.

I would tell them of a time before 9-11 and the war on terror. I would mourn with them the loss of innocence, but at the same time, show them that flowers grow through the unforgiving cracks of even the best and worst laid sidewalks.. I would say, children, human beings are remarkably resilient ,and can survive and flourish just like those flowers. I would tell them that as long as there is love in this world, there is hope.. I would then share some timeless truths that a dear lady imparted to me  like, pretty is as pretty does, that those chores won’t up and” git “done by themselves and to never judge a book by its cover.

This song goes out to my Grandmother, my angel. I love you. I miss you everyday.

The Promise of Pixie Dust

Being sensitive and in tune with the world can be very painful. There’s so much suffering. It’s hard not to drown in sorrow, in both our own and others. However, the only way to be is to feel, to give, to love. The challenge is not in the feeling. No, the test, is learning how to navigate the highs and lows of life’s tide, to understand, not only our frailties, but the frailties of others; to embrace the pain, but never lose sight of hope and the healing powers of love. #balance

Wearing our hearts on our sleeves, is dangerous. We run the risk of having them knocked off and broken, but I’d rather take that chance than keep my heart closed off from the world. I just want to feel, live and BE (and eat chocolate, hang out with Jon Stewart and listen to Justin Bieber tunes while solving math problem) Okay, well, maybe not those last two.

“I can’t help it,
I love the broken ones,
The ones who
Need the most patching up.
The ones who
Never been loved,
Never been loved,
Never been loved enough.
Maybe I see a part of me in them.
The missing piece always trying to fit in.
The shattered heart
Hungry for a home.
No, you’re not alone.
I love the broken ones.”

Life Lessons as Told by a Reformed Southern Belle

1. Be comfortable in your skin. Live fearlessly. Know what you want. Embrace your passions

2. Be an original. Remember there is nobody else like you. Never let anyone else define your worth. Define yourself!. Write your script. Make it a masterpiece.

3. Every human life has value. We’re all equal. When the rights of one are violated, so are the rights of all. Be a voice for love and humanity Do more. Expect more. Be more.

4. Worrying and obsessing over a problem is a waste. Use that time to work on fixing the issues and brainstorming solutions. In between, perhaps, eat a scoop of rocky road or have a good workout session with a punching bag .Note, the punching bag should not be someone’s face:)

5. Having hopes and dreams is wonderful. However, making those hopes and dreams a reality through hard work and determination is the stuff of which dreams are made.

6. Be kind.

7. A world without love is like a book without words, a box without chocolate, hope without faith. Empty.

8. “This too shall pass” See. This list is just about over.

9. Perhaps, we shouldn’t be offended by song lyrics, or a piece of art. The world would be a far better place if we were more offended by poverty, war, greed, social injustices.

10. Every day is a new day and a chance to begin again, to love, the ones you adore, to count your blessings,, to dance around the kitchen barefoot with the music blaring, to make up silly songs about your rock star cat, to eat another piece of chocolate, to read an amazing piece of literature, and to realizes life is beautifully complex, but simple too.

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It’s Time to Rise by Tosha Michelle

by Tosha Michelle

Sunshine paints the canvas of my mind.
Blinding me to heartache,
Bleaching away decay,
Shadows fade away.
Grief passes on to where it came.
Vivid shades of orange and blues.
Replace the bleak gray hues.
Basking in the light of love,
Dinning with cheery trees,
I live again.

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Elemental by Tosha Michellle

The rip current consumes me.

Dragging me under in a rage,

I struggle against the tide.

Battling the demons of a water drenched mind.

Caught in a vortex of time,

Sun and dry land mock me.

I refuse to be destroyed by the elements.

My arms reach out to the trees.

Their branches sway toward me

But it’s not enough.

In desperation I turn to the earth.

The substance of life,

Hatred and failure taunt me.

With bloody hands and bruise knuckles.

I dig through a wasteland of hopelessness.

Wondering why God has forsaken me.

As the ground beneath continues to break,

I’m free falling into the labyrinth of chaos,

And underworld of isolation,

Night falls.

I lift my head to cry out.

Suddenly overcome by the beauty and magnitude of the stars.

I’m consumed by the will to live and be…

The struggle only amplifies my resolve.

Solace and hope are elemental.

An alive in me.

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