Michaela's Musings

kiss of life rubbing my thumbs over silk soft hands the prickly tickle of his stubble on my cheek giggling and moaning into his kisses his mouth, red rimmed from my lipstick XOXO, Michaela

Happy May Day everyone! As spring deepens and summer slowly approaches, I wanted to write something divinely feminine and aged like a fine wine. This piece was inspired by Women Who Run with the Wolves  by Clarissa Pinkola Estés. Ode to La Loba The most unassuming saint. Patron of sunbleached bones. Some cracked, others worn down by the passage of time. Ankles, legs, knees, and necks binding together once more; Resurrected by your timeworn song. Your fanged smiles Scare off those who wish to subdue. Hunters incapable of dancing Under the silver tears of the moon. O Wild Woman,  Loba Luminoso, Your howling laughter echoes Across the golden horizon. Inviting us to follow. XOXO, Michaela

  Wake Up Call  I awoke to the gentle hum of the HVAC, Swaddling me in a cocoon of warmth. Outside, the wind howled, Rattling the window. Desperate to enter. A chill ran up my legs, Weighed down with a foreign heaviness. Sandpaper scales scraping against soft flesh. I peeked under the cashmere bedding, A frigid lump of fear formed at what I saw. Spirals of dusty earth Patterned with black diamonds Coiled comfortably around my feet. Slitted pupils staring off into an abyss I could not see. Maybe it was cold too. Searching for its own soft place. XOXO, Michaela

Hello everyone! This is my article from the spring edition of The Drum: Black Love! I'm so incredibly proud of this piece and very grateful for The Drum community for giving me a space to be a vulnerable. Hope you enjoy. Here's the link:  The Drum Spring '26 The Art of Loving "Anyone with a heart would agree. It's so easy to fall in love with me" - "So Easy (To Fall in Love)" by Olivia Dean What is love?   It’s the honeyed scent of mango wafting through the air. It’s the cool sensation of your great-great grandmother’s well-worn sapphire rings and gold pendants against your skin.  Our society limits this powerful, transcendent emotion to the narrow space between two people.  But it’s more than a feeling; it’s a state of being.  Much of my childhood was spent in solitude. Sitting alone at lunchtime. Attempts to play at recess were rebuffed. My body became a target for mockery. I thought my lack of relationships was proof that there was nothing to love...

*This is from a class discussion post O nline tradwives are not a new phenomenon. In fact, they derive from a long history of white women upholding white patriarchy through the promotion and adherence to traditional gender roles. While the alt right is characterized by its aggression and "masculine" dominance, women's role in it has been to soften it, make it seem palatable to the masses. From female slaveowners to the United Daughters of the Confederacy to the Reich Bride Schools, white women have utilized their unique position to perpetuate systems of white supremacy. Their unique position—while limiting due to their gender—still allows them to exercise considerable power as white persons. These movements depend on the presumption that women are inherently softer. This lures people into the ideology, assuming that the presence of women makes these ideologies harmless or even aspirational. The emergence of tradwives on the internet is ignorant at best, and dangerous at w...

Note: This poem was part of an assignment for my poetry class. It's inspired by and responds to a fellow classmate's poem. A Meditation on Love There is a widow,  Glossy and black. Crimson staining her delicate mouth. A callous predator Claiming her victim. But she loved him. Adored his tiny, tan frame And the smattering of freckles  Dancing across his back. Loved him so fiercely she Diced him into tiny cubes, Spooning him into her mouth. So that when their children are born, He is the first thing they know. And she, Swollen with the fruits of her love, Returns to her web. XOXO, Michaela