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



Mister High Maintenance

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

Writer Man

Art: Oliver Ray, Man Writing

What are you doing, thinking, being, freeing?

Like a see-saw or whirling twirling swirling but never unnerving

I do dig you like an ole school record

‘Cause, Baby, I love your ways

You are re-quieting enticing spicing like the House of Atredis, my Lord

You are worthy I’m glad you know that

Float on, soar, and carry on your Highness

Beauty is her name—so accommodating, ego stroking spirit of yours elating

I don’t know if I trust her, but, if you do, if that pleases you, go on through to do you ‘cause she is pursuing you though you already knew

We all need our Strokerz for they give us that flesh zinger that twinge and fix we need

I guess the rest of us have to sort through our own mess as we see your groupies serenade you, throw their word panties at you

It sickens me when some floozy tries to woo you with her honey dipped words rolling off her lips

The pretty ones make us wince because we don’t believe in our own beauty (have mercy) see our own worth our own value if we did we would not be jealous it’s true

Pure jealousy haunts me when I see you flirting with those Prancers and Posers because I can’t have you

Now, I see that I want to own you, control you, make you the property that I so loathe being for anyone else…

©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


In Love with an Apparition

Art: You Min Mok, Ghost Love

I’m in love with a ghost.

He woos me sweetly, affectionately, seductively, and tenderly—yet he’s an apparition.

This is not normal because he doesn’t exist in the corporeal even though I know him intimately.

Meeting him as a teen, his elusiveness captured my heart—lock, stock, and barrel.

I’d sadly wait for his appearance though when he did, I’d seem invisible to him.

My love for him traversed through the decades.

His latest manifestation is in a handsome, intelligent, gifted, poetic soul who’s not right for me.

His initial presence remains the same even though he’s taken on many shapes throughout the years.

Recently, he appeared in his disembodied state to assure me that all is well.

The very next day he made a worldwide appearance, physically looking as he does in the non-corporal.

He informed the masses of his real day-to-day life.


©2012 Nesi Writes


Journey of My Heart

Photography: Barron Claiborne, Black Rose

My heart…

…instinctively knew

…yearned privately

…suffered emotional assault

…rapidly degenerated



…completely shattered


My heart gladly anticipates new beginnings…

© 2012 Nesi Writes

Hippie Chick Wounds

Art: Bill Hume, Hippy Chick

An elderly California hippie-chick lady crossed my life path, today.

She sported tan leathery skin and blonde sun kissed tresses.

She donned hot pants and a tube top characteristic of a young woman in her twenties or thirties.

Pat drove a sporty jazzy white whip—not your regular granny can.

She preferred friendships with people several years her junior.

She took to me like a fish to water—chronologically she was much older than my Mom.

Periodically, I popped in on Pat for tea while I played with her slightly temperamental furry cats.

I don’t want you to get the wrong impression; Pat wasn’t your typical elderly cat lady.

We’d talk for hours—mostly I listened.

She felt displaced living in such a conservative Texas town—west coast waves flowed through her veins.

Some years ago, the man of her dreams swept her off her feet making her world complete.

Theirs was a May-December relationship—today they’d say he was a cub my cougar friend tamed.

Upon speaking his name, her face transformed into a canvas brushed with bittersweet strokes from a love long gone.

Emotionally stuck unable to move on, forward, or through, I pitied Pat.

I’m not exactly sure how it ended between the two—though it never ended in her mind.

I just remember her sadness from not knowing his whereabouts.

Their break tore her heart to pieces—pieces never gathered.

Innumerable pieces lay scattered around her home—draping her windows, covering her bed, setting her table, and serving tea.

Still she pinned over him all the years I knew her.

Her pain, stemmed from his absence, still chills me, haunts me, and hurts.

Her morose pain placed a disconcerting strain on our friendship.

Her perception of her ideal love ceased, causing great pain to ooze poisonous venom all over others.

To my knowledge, she never recovered from his absence.

I wonder whatever happened to my poor, sad, hippie-chick neighbor friend with her infected oozing love wounds…

©2012 Nesi Writes