You don’t have to like me.

You don’t have to like me
to read my poetry.
You don’t need to share my views
or even understand or agree.
All you need to do
is listen to my words
my poetry
the rhythm the beats
listen to the images
the pictures they paint
listen to the words
and follow the meaning
but I am just me
and you don’t have to like me
to read my poetry.

The mythology behind being female

The Mythology behind being female:

Emily Sturgill

Thursday, March 26, 2015

The Mythology behind being female:

We are taught from the time

we are very little that what matters most

is how you look on the outside

not how you really feel.

Are you pretty enough?

No, well then we have lots of stuff

let’s add some eyeliner, lipstick and a bit of blush.

Do not dress like a tomboy or wear your sweatpants

outside the house.

Do not forget to paste a smile and pretend it’s all better

because all those teardrops darling

will turn to rust

because it’s the outside the matters most

it’s the pastel shingles on your exterior house

do not show them your true colors

don’t display fear like a mouse

don’t throw tantrums like children do

it’s unbecoming beneath the beauty

of you.

The Mythology behind being female:

Do not forget to paste a smile and pretend it’s all better

because all those teardrops darling

will turn to rust.

The mythology of being female

suggests a magical facade, and a white picket fence.

Girls should never get angry, defensive or dirty.

Girls should always play nice.

But sometimes the wildness in me

unleashes a feminist and I feel

like my exterior has cracks, my mascara runs, I get angry

I cry easily, I put on those ugly sweatpants

and I refuse to act lady like.

I embrace all my curves, the ones I was “taught”

are called ugly or fat.

The Mythology behind being female:

Sometimes despite the Mythology of being Female

I get annoyed, I get outraged, and I fight back.

against all the stereotypes that say

I should always put others first.

I should always play nice.

I should look pretty

and put a smile of my face.

because sometimes even when

I am trying to blend in

even when I am attempting to be

the ideal perfect version of me?

sometimes I just do not care at all.


Do not forget to paste a smile and pretend it’s all better

because all those teardrops darling

will turn to rust, then what comes next?

Nobody likes hanging out with a hurricane.

Nobody enjoys an un-lady like version

of crass, profane, selfish, uncompassionate

messy looking, emotional lunacy

a loud version of profanity

and ultimately a vulgar shadow

of a hysterical woman

this collides with the Mythology of being



Long lost letter to my wardrobe :

Long lost letter to my wardrobe :


Dear Darling Wardrobe:

For years, I’ve added garments to you. I always give while you simply, TAKE, take, take.

Your extensive piles of vomited old clothing all around my bedroom-they never shrink-as I never lose

my faith in You wardrobe. This unwavering faith, that someday I might become a size L again or fit into a

lovely discarded size 14 prom style dress, that I wore so moon moons ago to my 10th year high school reunion.

Some garments are relics of a past, which I must cling to, such as my wedding gown or my College graduation robe from Grad school that was so damn expensive. Dear wardrobe, many items are too small or ripped or torn.

I swear I will mend those socks with the huge gaping holes at their heels, or the see-through silky overcoat with the many rainbow holes. I swear to fix these things but I am a liar. And you and I both know this.

I tell myself I must keep several things a size too small or a size too large, just in case my weight changes.

But my weight for the most part, stays Stoic, Stable and Steady. I have accepted my body, I tell myself. Gorgeous is not a size,I tell myself it’s an attitude, a way of life.

But if I were honest, we both know what I would do. I would swallow my pride whole, and piece by piece

reduce you. I would rid myself of the too small Mom-jeans, of the socks who have no friends, of the outdated out of style size 14 dresses that I own.I would throw away all the holey things, I do not fix and I do not wear.

The clothes too big or too small I would gather into trash bags and deposit them at Good Will.

Think of the room I would save if I just said goodbye to all the ugly sweaters that look much better folded or fallen on the floor than on my size 2x frame? My dear darling wardrobe, many times,I have cursed you, when I cannot find:

Anything to Wear!!!

My husband he dislikes you, for taking some much space away from Us-as you occupy bins, dressers, closets and laundry baskets stockpiled everywhere. Like nuclear bombs from a desert test site, generations ago. Like a possessed Demon, Devil or unfriendly Spirit you haunt us daily by the mere sight of you.Somehow, I must gain access to the sword I carry in my mind’s eye and chop you down bit by bit, down to size, down to MY SIZE, a plus size 2x.

But these things are never easy. Breaking up is hard to do.

I must do something before your hugeness, like a whale, swallows our bedroom whole. Leaving nothing but piles of colored fabric in its wake, trembling at its seams.Dear Wardrobe, I think it would be best if we both started seeing other people.

Or at least, if you saw other people, and if I saw better fitting clothing and less of a mess, tragedy on my bare floor.

I’m sorry Wardrobe for all the lies I fed you. But you lied to me too. You said I would lose all this weight. You told me I definitely would drop down to my high school frame of a size 9 or 11. You said these horrible half-truths, so what’s a girl to do? I trusted you. I believed in you. Not anymore, because the scale always unwaveringly stays stuck between 200-210.

I can no longer pretend. The game is over. I must try to go through you-and shield my eyes-from your outrageous lies and half baked half truths.

Sincerely yours,

a plus sized woman 

a Gorgeous Woman.

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