After Shot

She did it. Killed herself this week. Couldn’t take this world’s offerings a minute longer.

Pretty little girl, I frequently feel like I’ve reached my end; like there‘s no way out. But you upped your game on me and took matters—a gun in your case—into your own hands leaving the world bereft; picking up pieces; sorting through your remains. Those who wronged you are forever trapped in a world of guilt and anguish, searching for ways they could have made things right with you. That’s your hope, isn’t it?

Will they take the time to put aside their grief to rummage through their life to see how they contributed to your pain, your demise, your end? Who knows?

What’s your setup like over there on the other side? Were you welcomed? Are you cast into more pain, isolation, and even less hope than you felt on this side? Hopefully you’re experiencing the joy and freedom you so desperately needed.

Little one, like I tried to say: On this side, the pain gets too great to manage at times. Often the tools we’re given don’t help us, at least not for long or to our satisfaction. Well-meaning people tell us to just wait it out, but, they don’t feel the endless agony; the nonstop monologue of:

• I can’t suffer like this any longer.

• I’ve got to do the best, the best I can, even if it’s with a gun, a gun resting in my hand waiting, waiting to connect, connect with my head.

Boom. I’m out…

PS: Pretty little girl, you may have erased your mark; but, never, never your memory from deep, deep within our hearts.

Finding Hope While Grieving Suicide

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Pain Change

my pain‘s real right now.

empty-faced.

absent soul.

beeping out for a connection. touré says move on to the next thing; im not feeling it.

trying to make moves but moves ain’t making me.

this blackness is bleak.

im shifting in multiple directions with hesitation marks all over the planet.

all is looking toward the big d; but, I don’t wanna go there.

my desire is to lie comfy in my bed until the wind changes.

yes, it always changes, rabbit !

didn’t you know?

nothing’s permanent.

not even you…

artist: David Choe

If Fear Wasn’t A Factor

If fear wasn’t a factor, I’d run to him. I’d love him—best I know how (that’s fear being a factor).

I’d bring him comfort and solace—if he’d take it (that’s fear speaking too).

Fear, you need to have several seats.

From my current point of view, I like him; his kindness wisdom quirkiness and humor.

Funny I never thought of returning to him—just thought us to be old flames with no embers smoldering.

Since his status change and he reached out to me, I’m seriously considering him.

Fear speaketh: What makes you think he wants you?

Fear, I asked you nicely to have several seats !

Well, as you can see, fear is a factor here. I need God’s guidance.

Long ago, I fearfully ran into someones space, not his arms, to rescue me from my torment. I put my own selfish desire first—to be comforted without giving comfort or love.

Got hitched.

Was miserable.

God wasn’t key; we were barely speaking.

I wanted what I wanted and it ended as a hot mess. Broken-hearted people scattered all over the lawn with rings, a name change, and papers.

Ten years out and I hope I’m wiser. I’ve learned the hard way that you can unwisely put yourself in the midst of something you can’t sustain. Or, you can seek wise counsel to live your dreams with fear not being a real factor at all.

I‘m choosing to be fearless this time by…

… seeking wise-counsel and walking in it.

… giving love as well as receiving it.

… being on speaking terms with God about his promises for me—yes and amen.

Fear, you are not a factor.

Bless Our Hearts

Artist: Elizabeth Catlett

My heart feels kinda bad ‘cause my man done gone.

Wudin’ mine no mo’ anyhow, bless his heart.

He won’t even give me da time o’ day.

I feels pitiful ‘cause I wants to rekindle some thangs that used to be.

I thought the fire was out but sumpin’ done sparked.

Don’t mean I wants to really strike up no romance ‘cause too many years done gone by.

But my l’il self tried ta reach out, and, maybe my efforts was in vain.

I feels kinda foolish now—shoulda let him make a move.

Aw, but he didn’t.

So, my l’il fast tail couldn’t wait.

Now, I’s just gone have ta put this here woe aside ‘cause it’s so unbecoming.

©2012 Nesi Writes

 

Lethargic Nothingness

Carly Hardy, Birds of Prey

Boredom takes a seat pouring a slow molasses like lethargy over my being.

I feel imprisoned in this nothingness—nothing motivates or stirs me.

Yes, I know the masses stand with their little list perched as sheet music ready to sing their operatic song of what I should or could do to escape boredom‘s hold.

Sing on if you must.

My ears hear you—my mind won’t listen.

Enfolded in the lull of boredom’s cradle, nothing penetrates this trap.

I wait it out until the next day.

Upon rising, I’m as good as new with a million and one things to do.

However, right now—this moment—I’m boredom’s prey.

©2012 Nesi Writes

Mister High Maintenance

Karen Joy Picketts, Portrait of Oscar Wilde
Art: Karen Joy Picketts, Portrait of Oscar Wilde

When I think of high maintenance, I envision a woman. Recently, my perception of high maintenance turned to men.

Some men emit signals requiring women to go beyond their real identity just to be with them.

This message all too often is not verbalized to the woman.

The meta message thumps…“To be with me; you must…”

Analyzing this pulsating thump and how it dictates some relationships, I’ve concluded: being you instead of some fabricated humanoid is best.

Like and enjoy yourself—quirks goodness and all.

I encourage a fast to sacrifice “do this, and maybe I will give you some attention.”

Mister, there’s a High Maintenance Woman already seasoned to accommodate your high maintenance self; so step to her.

Ladies, know there are men in your league who do not need cultivating—they are awaiting you.

Let’s keep it honest and real, High Maintenance Man, we are vastly different in our desires and needs.

Au revoir…

©2012 Nesi Writes

Nuptial Lessons

Freedom Art

Reflecting upon that insidious institution called marriage; I realize I was not as I presented myself to the world during my nuptial. Since my authentic self hid, I divorced—moving forward, allowing myself to emerge.

With intent, I declined the bitterness invitation, but she continuously lurked at my door. Today, I consciously choose who I want to be—a woman void of bitterness. Strict orders in the book of law prevent bitterness from trespassing near my heart.

Each day, I try on my adventures like clothes—tossing some and adding others to my hope chest.

Amidst coupling, marriage, and otherwise, I realize that when the energy of two people collides, a dynamic specific to that union occurs. Universal laws exist; preventing a previous union’s replication from ever occurring again.  Each union is its own one-of-a-kind silo. Oh, what exciting news!

So, release your fear and anxiety that your next union will be as the previous—never gonna happen. Is that not wonderful?

I look forward to experiencing my multi-faceted wonderful self within all my everyday encounters. Wish me well as I send reciprocal love back to you…

©2012 Nesi Writes