45

Birthdays coming soon

Thunder heart

Beats of doom.

Cancers crashing

Not my own

Just somebody I love

My age is creeping

Twist turning to find

Hallowed ground.

Loved ones may

Die sometime soon.

Middle aged

45

Thickened this

Life soup spills

So soft and silently.

Birthday wishes

Bring

Disharmony.

Advertisements

Puddles of Pain…

Puddles of Pain…

twisted torso of torsion.

ugly uterus untrustworthy.

a sea of infertility.

blood bleeding brightly

into

puddles of pain.

my fifth day still twisting

turning into knots this-

ugly uterus untrustworthy

due to endometriosis.

heating pads, electric blanket and tylenol

mere essentials for survival as my body rebels

attacking me monthly.

Roses

Roses don’t grow

in concrete.

Love doesn’t bloom

in the desert.

Warmth isn’t found

in an iceberg

Roses don’t grow

in concrete

But Rainbows only appear

after the thunderstorms.

I never asked you for roses

but after you stormed

I did expect

a rainbow.

Medusa

Mythological

Eruptions of

Damnation.

Universal unity

Serpentine spikes solid sharpen statues

Angelic in chaos wake.

Dirty hands

Dirty Hands- March 1st 2019

Spirals of songs

ringing into my mp3 ears

songstruck grabbing at bits and pieces

lyrics licking the palms

of dirty hands.

the gift of singular melody

ringing into my mp3 ears

grabbing at puzzles reaching for words

hearing everything like the first time

lyrics licking the palms

of dirty hands.

sooner than later

dancing will lead to poetry

then it will lead to twisting

and bending into art supplies

lingering music towards motion

sketchbooks opening without pause

these lyrics licking the palms

will lead to drawing

oil pastels or pencils or charcoal

covering these dirty hands.

We never know when….

We never know when….

Weds 2/27/19

Michigan Winter

frigid icy solid

snow packed

the firm crunchy carpet

of wet winters bane.

Chilling to the bones

14 degrees brings me

to my knees.

A sea of white harden bone,

spun of velvet.

Snow shatters by a knife of Ice.

Eventually spring will come,

but living in Michigan We never know

when?

Snow sometimes….

March April or May?

The weather just stays this way.

A sea of white harden bone,

spun of velvet.

Snow shatters…..

by a knife of Ice.

Eventually Spring will come.

But living in Michigan,

We never know when?

Surreal stabbing pain

Surreal stabbing pain

my Uterus is bothering me again.

Endometriosis rears it’s ugly head.

I feel a cramping sharpened stabbing feeling

in my abdomen back and thighs.

and the monthly agony of bleeding is  back,

There are no words for this type of pain except for

overwhelming…..surreal stabbing pain

my uterus is bothering me again.

Free ebooks on Kindle Feb and March

I am giving away free ebooks of my poetry and artwork starting tomorrow 2/7/19.

“Once I was the Rain.” by Emily Sturgill is a collection of poetry available for free from 2/7/19-2/11/19. During that same time frame “Don’t make me bleed-confessions of a uterus in pain.” will also be available. It is raw and dark poetry about my personal experiences with Stage IV Endometriosis. The third ebook available is “Don’t cry me a River of Crocodile Tears.”by Emily Sturgill. It is free from 2/14/19-2/18/19. The following week a fourth ebook will be free called “Yesterday’s Flowers and other things.” by Emily Sturgill. Free to download from 2/21/19-2/25/19.

I am also offering a free download of my personal battle with bipolar disorder. It’s called,”Memoirs recalled Madness.” It will be free to download off kindle from 2/28/19-3/4/19. During that same time frame a collection of poems called.”Mythology seen through metaphor.”by Emily Sturgill will also be free.

Lastly the first week of March two volumes of poetry will be free from kindle. “In love with a word. Poetry.” by Emily Sturgill and “Spirals of Song and other poems.” These are free 3/3/19-3/7/19.

As always you can download any and all of these titles on my Authors page on Amazon.com. That link is here https://www.amazon.com/Emily-Sturgill/e/B00B1GC5LY

Wintertime Blues

2-6-19

Winter brings icy frosted

daydreams of Spring

as I hunger for warmth

I am surrounded by dense frozen cold.

Winter brings harsh cold and blue colored sadness.

I’m living in a Detroit suburb but my heart’s in Florida.

where my older sister and my father live….

not my entire heart though simply pieces of it.

The rest of my heart lives here in Michigan with my husband

and our family….but these cold temps, harsh cold and blue colored sadness….

it brings a sort of fleeting depressed madness.

as I  hunger for warmth

I am surrounded by dense frozen cold.

Winter brings icy frosted

daydreams of Spring.

 

Broken

Broken- by Emily H. Sturgill

Broken Brain

Bipolar disorder broke my brain in two poles.

With my medications I walk a tightrope between these poles

depression and mania…..I try daily to slip into the inbetweenness of these two things.

medicine helps but it does not cure. It only helps to contain a balance of semi-stability.

So yes I”ve got a broken brain.

Also I’ve got a broken Uterus. I have Endometriosis Stage 4. A fancy way of brokeness…

I hurt a lot of the time. It’s the worst whenever I am bleeding. Crumpled into layers of pain cramping aching stabbing screaming agony of pain. I’m hurting today in fact. Despite my period not due for two more days my broken uterus spits brownish blood and I know that means to hell with the calendars my period’s starting early. Up until 2015 I was taking opiods for the pain. Then I went through the process of applying for a medical marijuana card. I got off opiods. Now instead of pain daily from my endometriosis I’ve only got pain during my periods and during ovulation…..

A broken Uterus. A history of Infertility. Two pregnancies=Two miscarriages.

It’s a fancy form of brokeness. It’s a double whammy. A broken brain. A broken Uterus.

But deep down inside beneath all of the broken things is my poetry is my stories is my spirit and my soul-even beneath all of that is my heart which is strong unflinching warm and consistently unbroken. It beats on and on-unbroken. And beneath this broken brain and broken uterus is an unbroken girl grasping at straws and pulling like weeds from the ground fistfulls of words which fall to my feet into puddles of poetry.