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.

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What lies beneath?

What lies beneath?

Emily H. Sturgill

5/7/15

What lies beneath

this porcelain glass sculpted hand?

this enigma of uncertainty

What lies beneath

a broken body / a shattered soul/a splintered mind?

What lies beneath the rug

so often pulled right outta of me?

What is hiding there in the corner

beneath the waves of sleep

i’ve been missing

and all the hopes and dreams

I am pretending?

What lies beneath a blank canvas

which calls out for you,

for anyone who

has the courage to

create

a single black mark?

Am I the blank canvas or

am I the mark?

I haven’t decided which

but i will back up

and just

call that part

Art.