The Self


Everything I Never Told You


The self always strikes
dissonant chords,
the world of her mind
never quite at peace.
More often, the self walks
along imagination’s street.
Here she is free from
monotony and fear.

The self wants? What?
A freezing shot of clarity?
The pulse and throb
of a sexy life?
The bruised scent of strawberries?
Piano keys and satin sheets,
a world free from hate?
The sweet salt of a lover’s skin?

The self never can seem
to get it right.
She offers herself to pen and paper.
Writing her rebellious truths.
She travels along on words
in moonlight visions,
casting a poetic sheen.
Plunging toward that place
you aren’t allowed to dive,
but the self does anyway.
Here she comes alive.
Here there’s no bottom.
No end. Here the self can
tell you anything.
Watch the self
spilt herself open.
times three.

-Tosha Michelle

“Everything that drowns me, makes me wanna…

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