Kelly Michelle Thomas

One of my self-love rituals is to give myself a photoshoot session every once in a while. I like to leave them unedited (except the black and white ones) and not touch up anything I see as imperfections. It’s a very important part of the ritual because we can be so conditioned to edit and put filters on. The point of this ritual is to embrace the things I tend to be insecure about and to just have fun loving on me. Besides the major confidence boost it can give, it’s nice to see how I’ve changed over the years.

"In the land of the unforgiving
In the land of hostility
Where demons reign
and the air thicker than cotton
Where water is non existent
and roots to dreams become rotten
The sky is always angry with red
There are no sweet melodies here
Only deep vibratos of despair
Like a choir of cellos played by bows
laced with cursed horse hairs..."
_______
Read the full poem now on my blog.

Hellhounds | Poem by Kelly Michelle Thomas This poem was written in the year 2023, during a time of deep turmoil. It felt like I was stuck in a never ending spiral that just kept descending downwards. No matter how much I tried, it felt like my peace and sanity were slipping from me day by day. The days seemed gloomier and my taste for life....

I made an old blog post that was behind a paywall public now. How does grief take form? Well, check out my poem "The Shape of Sorrow"

The Shape of Sorrow | Poem by Kelly Michelle Thomas Sorrow does not have a faceIt only takes shape of whatever it holdsBecoming like waterConsuming all and over flooding riversA tsunami pummeling through the soulwhere it only travels deeperThrough the river of veinsTo the heart of the spirits coreExploding into an atomic bombexpanding through memorie...

There's a new poem on my blog and Substack! Be sure to check it out and make sure to sign up to my mailing list. Hope you enjoy!

Silver Spring Symphony | Poem by Kelly Michelle Thomas This piece is inspired by a moment and being present in that moment. No phone. No distractions. Just me and this force of nature. I wanted to translate to the world the way I experienced it. When it comes to my poetry, I love to rhyme. It seems rhyming poetry doesn’t get as much love as it once us...

Hey everyone, I made a Substack profile! I'm still exploring the platform and trying to figure out exactly how I want to use the space, but be sure to check it out and subscribe. Thank you!

Kelly Michelle Thomas | Substack Click to read Kelly Michelle Thomas, a Substack publication. Launched an hour ago.

Hello everyone! There's a new blog post you may be interested in. I was offered a complimentary copy of the book, 𝙊𝙪𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝘾𝙤𝙘𝙤𝙤𝙣: 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙅𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝘽𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 by Rosemary Esehagu, in exchange for an honest review. You can now read the full review on my blog, Pretty Poesy.

Book Review: Out of the Cocoon by Rosemary Esehagu Publisher: Manhattan Book Group Publication Date: 2/15/2025 Pages: 144 Price: $23.99 (hardcover) It was a beautiful Friday morning when I received an email asking if I would love to receive a complimentary copy of Out of the Cocoon: The Journey to Becoming by Rosemary Esehagu in exchange for an hone...

𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗬𝗠𝗢𝗨𝗦
Narrative poem by: Kelly Michelle Thomas
_________

The night was young and so was the decade.
In the heart of New York City—early 1920s.
Where the parties were grand and streets never hungry
for they were full of life with people dressed in money.

The women, free with flare bedazzled in jewels roaming in pairs
as their chain smoked laughters lingered and longed through the air.
The men, sharp with edge dressed and dapper seeking revenge
as forbidden malt liquor lingered and longed on their breaths.

In the heart of this city, there was man.

A man with a face much too pretty, but eyes empty and dead.
He showed no emotions—not even for pretend.
He spoke only with single words or short sadistic phrases.
A crime lord rumrunner who never reveals what his name is...

A man named Anonymous.

Anonymous was a man with taste and class that always wore
a pinstriped suit with a pocket watch clipped to his vest.
His hair dark slicked back and parted to the side
that brought out his features enhancing his strong jawline.
The pocket watch broken, but never was used to tell time
and only twice a day was it right at eleven o’ nine.

He shared his intimate nights with a woman named Ruth.
A beautiful young starlet who sang jazz and blues.
Night after night he would watch her sing at all the speakeasies
and night after night he’d take her home for loving and pleasing.
She never knew his name, she called him Nony for short.
She loved him more than anything, more than her heart could support.

Ruth sat at her vanity, clutching her pearls gazing into her reflection.
In the corner she saw Nony, standing naked not paying attention.
She snapped her pearls, each one bouncing uncontrollably
as her eyes welted up and she began to sob inconsolably,
“𝘔𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘕𝘰𝘯𝘺, 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴
𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦, 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦.
𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦? 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥?
𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘐 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸? 𝘛𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦!
𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦!”

Anonymous with his stoic expression
grabbed his broken pocket watch as he was dressing,
“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦.
𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵
𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘰 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵,
𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬
𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.”

Sobbing, Ruth grabbed her bags and went for the door
as each single pearl continued to roll around all over the floor.
Her throat choked up, she could not speak anymore words.
She looked at him, he paid no attention as the door k**b turned,
then slamming it shut in disbelief at what had occurred.

Anonymous slowly sat onto the bed.
His stoic expression fading into an agonizing one instead.
His eyes started glistening as he sat alone thinking and reminiscing
of the woman named Caroline—he once called his wife.
Pregnant with his son, died from the flu as he was fighting in WW1.
He never forgot the time, he then looked at his pocket watch...

It was eleven o’ nine.

“𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘳,
𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐’𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩.”
And with those words, Anonymous wept and tears rolled
from his eyes, down his cheek, pouring onto the floor.
Wondering why death won’t come knocking onto his door.
________________________

First published: https://www.prettypoesy.com/post/anonymous

© Kelly Michelle Thomas. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means or without the written permission of the author. No generative artificial intelligence was used in the writing of this work. The author expressly prohibits any entity from using this publication to train AI technologies to generate text.

There's a new blog post! This poem was part NYCMidnight Rhyming Story Challenge. The challenge was to write a story with the theme/genre/emotion assigned to each group of writers with a word count limited to 600. For this story, I was assigned snazzy/historical fiction/tearful. Unfortunately, this did not advance, so I made it accessible for y'all to read. Enjoy!

Anonymous | Narrative Poem by Kelly Michelle Thomas The night was young and so was the decade. In the heart of New York City—early 1920s. Where the parties were grand and streets never hungry for they were full of life with people dressed in money. The women, free with flare bedazzled in jewels roaming in pairs as their chain smoked laughters linge...

Damn…this made me emotional. Tomorrow will be exactly 10 years where I began writing for 125 days. I took the first photo the day before honoring the challenge I bestowed upon myself.

I wish I could give my 26 year old self the biggest hug and tell her how proud I am. She had no idea what would come out of the hard work she put in. From journal, bookstores, into the hands of readers. This is only the beginning. Thank you 26 year old Kelly for pouring your love out there.