music – Page 13 – Everything I Never Told You

Fill Me Up

Published on February 23, 2018February 23, 2018 by Tosha Michelle45 Comments

Because I’m an empty vessel
waiting to be filled.
I find myself flirting with sin.
I do it by way of pen
and paper. Trying to stitch
hope into my skin
I snuggle inside words. Poetry
can’t hurt me the way a
man can. In verse, I can build
anticipation again. Doors open
inside my head. Verbs press
against me, hard and
wanton. I find a sacred niche
between the lines. Here
I take the light. Here it never
darkens or leaves.
Devotion blesses me with sweetness
and excess.
Heaven is found in scenes that are
too scary and loud to live.

I’m an empty vessel.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Romancing myself with
my poetic wooings.
Damming myself to things
conjured, a Paradise
devoid of air, the shadows of
a scarred soul, and the
language of mangled spirit
Waiting to be loved again.

-Tosha Michelle

Warmth’s Inner Light

Published on February 18, 2018 by Tosha Michelle35 Comments

No longer content with the
winter life and its flannel
sleep. Self and it’s terms
finally meet

She wipes away
the frost from her soul
And sees spring illuminated
beyond the cold.
Sunlight the trinket she’s
always possesed
misplaced for awhile
shine from within.
Her sepia world
long deprived of green
become vibrant and
alive again.
She walks away in blue
with plenty of heart
by the light of her own
eyes, no longer needing
to find it in another.
-Tosha Michelle

Delicate Decadence

Published on February 15, 2018 by Tosha Michelle47 Comments

Poetry never visits me

dressed in lace

Sipping a colorful drink

Singing and swaying

to a happy tune.

Instead, poetry likes to weep

in my ear, turned out

in black with a bottle

of scotch

Miles Davis on replay.

There’s happiness in me

to be written, to be lived.

I’m never as melancholy

as my writing would suggest.

Joy is just waiting to be

unfolded like a love

note hidden in dresser

buried under layers of clothes.

One day I’ll give into

nostalgia and find solace

in the lyrical prose.

It’s just there so much art and beauty

in the exquisite feeling of

sadnes. My strictured soul

finds solace in its untamed

sweetness. Its bluesey notes

lnown to me, heard by me,

sung by me, felt by me.

The delicate decadence

-Tosha Michelle

The Things We Do For Love

Published on February 3, 2018February 3, 2018 by Tosha Michelle22 Comments

Sunset and a song. Have a wonderful weekend xx

Just because😜💕💕

Published on January 30, 2018January 30, 2018 by Tosha Michelle28 Comments

Saturday Music Jam

Published on January 6, 2018 by Tosha Michelle10 Comments

Drinking old cheap bottles of wine
Sit talking up all night
Saying things we haven’t for a while, a while yeah
We’re smiling but we’re close to tears
Even after all these years
We just now got the feeling that we’re meeting
For the first time

Ode to Grass Stains and Wildberries

Published on December 30, 2017December 30, 2017 by Tosha Michelle131 Comments

unnamed (8)

We create our own joy.
Come roll around with me
in the grass til our
clothes are stained.
Til the clouds turn violet.

Let’s eat ice cream under
the stars and hold each other
until the restlessness dissipates.
Tonight let’s not battle the hardwood floors,
the laundry chute, or the dishes.

Let’s defy gravity, monotony,
the drudgery of life.
Throw away the map.
Let’s find another way.
Eat the wild berries.
Live on the breeze.
Amp up the brightness of
the moon.
Who cares if the universe
complains?

Let’s create a language
that fits us, in a land
of pine cones and sage.
Red dress on the ground
where desire stays.

Nouns infused with passion
tongue, earlobes, necks..
Shuttering hands, quivering bodies.
The sentences of ourselves.
Infinitives, unearthing new verbs
and their allure.

Upgrading our love
to a window seat in first
class.

Rethinking how.
Reordering now.

-Tosha Michelle

Just Go

Published on December 24, 2017 by Tosha Michelle37 Comments

Flowers of what is pollinated
by bees of what might have
been. Mundane afternoons married
to evenings of TV and ringtones
that have forgotten how to ring.
An old journal reminds her
it’s not too late
to resurrect a dream or lost
shimmer, to right her caddy-corner
heart left askew by
a lover’s hands. She grasps
for the notes under air,
leaving the past to glide
past and out the door.
She bows to the cartography of light
and presses the guidebook to
her chest. Knowing it’s time
to rise and go, to spiral out
into the unmoored and unknown.