Here, There is Pixie Dust

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Sometimes I am only interested in small things.

The chocolate bar. A hot bath.
The turned down corner of a book page

This is not unhappiness.
Yet, still I dress in layers
of sorrow.

I wrap a scarf around my heart like a tourniquet
to keep the darkness from bleeding out.

It’s winter inside of me,
but the frost has not yet taken over.
My soul still hints of blue birds,
jazz notes, Monet paintings.

My mind’s attuned to spring.
I hide it in the closet for later.

It’s always a balance regardless of the season.

There’s still daisies in need of planting.

Leaves in need of raking.

Tonight, restlessness breaks
like a coconut, open windowed,
near.

Where is serenity?
For weeks its been poetry,
Chet Baker, and Cheerios.

I grow weirder with each passing year,
more aloof.

I long to flame the wind
with a strike of a match
only it knows.

I long to praise the weeds, the wildflowers.
Who’s to say which is which?

I’m still seeking glitter and swoon,
the litter of pixie dust.

Now before Neverland becomes never.
Now before life is tossed downriver,
spinning in time’s current.

My unattended heart, wait to be taken away,
beyond the window, to starlight things.

To design a language I can dance to,
to find kismet in avoiding the side steps and serenity in the fall.

-Tosha Michelle

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Chit Chat Chicks

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Hello lovely ones. Greetings from the land of confusion. I have a favor to ask. As some of you know, I host a podcast with my beautiful friend Jane called Chit Chat Chicks. We bring you the latest in entertainment and good old fashion snark. Some of our past guests have included Norman Reedus from The Walking Dead, Allison Burnett, known for movies like Fame, Autumn in New York and Gone, and Ericka Eleniak from Baywatch

We have started a blog for the podcast. If you are so inclined we would love for you to follow us. I’m not sure where we will lead you, but I can promise it will be a fun trip. We will also follow you anywhere, but if you could direct us to a chocolate store, that would be great. As always, thanks for the support. The WordPress community is one of the nicest. Really happy to have connected with most of you. Ha! Happy Thursday.

You can find us here: Chick Chat Chicks Blog

The Heart of The Matter

When my life becomes
hard. I write away in
my notebook of dreams
that lives on my desk.
I take a short cut through
ink to be with it.
My pen
of angst spilling out
particles of love. desire,
fears.
I wonder how the pages
can ingest them all. My
constant purging of
emotions. Trying to
convey with words
truth before time
distorts it and it
becomes an artifact in
the Museum of
UnNatural History.
At times the fog
likes to exert control
over my verse. Longing
tend to be blind to
reality and reason.
It never sees things
as they are. The poet
trying to alter the
past and its asterisk
Poetry becomes a
contraption of denial.
Truth fight its way
through pages
watermark by tears
to sit on my back
like a weighed
pack, pulling
down hard on the
straps. Reminding me
how flimsy
my poetry and life
would be without it.

-Tosha Michelle

I liked the Tin Man song so much, I decided to do a cover. Hope you’ll give a listen

Imperfections

My life is a Morse code of
scars and happenstance.
Do you want to know me?
I’ll sing you my blue notes.
Let you lick salt and sugar
in equal measure from my
skin. Give me your hands.
Under this silk dress lies
the vernacular of a heart
scarred and crisscrossed
into meaning.

-Tosha Michelle 

Don’t Dream It’s Over

Don’t Dream It’s Over
Crowded House

There is freedom within, there is freedom without
Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup
There’s a battle ahead, many battles are lost
But you’ll never see the end of the road
While you’re traveling with me
Hey now, hey now
Don’t dream it’s over
Hey now, hey now
When the world comes in
They come, they come
To build a wall between us
We know they won’t win

And All She Sees Is Him

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Oh hell.

Here he comes again.

Just when you quit believing
there was more.

Only neanderthals on hollow horses,
but there he is holding out his hands

Ping goes the heart, and your clothes.

And how you love the tale,
the reveal.

You can’t believe how happy
you are, just to lie in his arms
and debate grapes and math.

And not only does this guy
listen to your prayers,
he actually reads and
loves your poetry.

You live on Chet Baker, and
the occasional sauteed mammal.

You watch Amazon and Hulu,
and wonder how you ever got
by with just cable and a mind
that constantly wandered
to avoid being present.

Now you live in the moment
and don’t care if it’s a cliche.

When you fall apart,
as you are prone to do.
He doesn’t condemn
but feeds you and tucks you in.

And he let’s you see
his weaker side.

Unafraid, you help him
wreak havoc on his demons
by the light of a soulful flame.

Even when things get boring
and stale; he coaxes out fire
with the trace of his tongue
on the nape of your neck.

His gravelly voice crooning
your name in a song, with
sultry blues notes that
only you two know.

You lose yourself in
the subtle rhythm and
(two, four) here comes
the bridge- how you like
this part. Straddling his
his lap. Lying back
and swinging to the heat.

For once in your life you
aren’t afraid to improvise.

Knowing you’ll follow
those high notes
down as far as they can go.

-Tosha Michelle

Listen to “Feels Like Home to Me” Cover by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud