Apologies-

Apologies- 1/4/2020

I smoke too much.
I talk too much.
And I drink way too much coffee.
I eat too much fast food.
I rarely listen.
I have too many vices
to count.
Sometimes, I’m a bit of a liar.
Other times, I make shit up.
I’m a storyteller.
I’m a manic-depressive.
I’m definitely not-
everybody’s cup of tea.

but in the end
all that matters
is that I am

always the real

me

Blissful

Blissful- 10/28/19

I have so much
A beautiful home
food and shelter
clean drinking water
enough food to eat
a happy marriage
a handsome husband
a large loving extended family.

i have everything I wanted.
I have everything I need.
So much joy, laughter and happiness-
despite my battles with
Mental Illnesses.

I realize how very lucky
I am in this single moment.
And I am grateful
that the Universe always provides.

I say that this is good enough
and I am blissful.

Treading Water

Treading Water 10/28/19

Some tread with Angels.
Some tread with Gods.
Some tread with Goddesses.
Some tread with Artists.
Some walk with
Muses.
Some walk with Writers.

I tread lightly.
I am treading water again.
Sinking and rising,
I tread lightly.

I walk with Poets.
I sing the unsung song.
As the Earth meets
my feet
I tread where I belong.

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.

A Hero like me

I need a Hero somebody like me at my best

I need a Hero somebody with all of my goodness none of my weakness.

I need a Hero somebody who is stable who has their stuff together.

If I could reach inside my inner mind and find

a seed of strength and inner peace I would try to become

my own kind of Hero. I wish I could find this other me

the one who has stability.I lose parts and pieces of myself during

my bipolar episodes. I’m still reeling from last summer’s mania.

Yes I need a Hero somebody like me at my best.

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

female.

 

thinking too much

thinking too much…

12/31/14

thinking too much…

about all this crap & such.

i’ve been walking the highwire

for quite a while

and i’ve been struggling to deal

with things

and wounds

and people

who never heal.

 

everytime i try

to reach out & ask for help

people look at me like

i am way beyond crazy.

 

as if i were not living in

an ultra stressful situation

with my own sanity

constantly in question?

 

i don’t even know

how many ways

i’ve attempted or even tried

to say:

 

this is far too much for me

to handle

this is far too much for US

to handle

this is far too much for your brother

to handle…

 

you take it for granted

that we will always take care

of her for You.

 

But what if I can’t?

What if I told you, it’s straining our marriage,

its too much to deal with

She is constantly on the offensive

I feel like I am always under attack.

 

Her constant complaining.

Her constant screaming, cursing and yelling.

Her never-ending depressions.

 

I have a Serious Mental Illness.

Christ-if you cannot deal with her,

with the hell makes You think?!

that I can??

 

I feel like trying to cut my wrists.

To bleed a bit.

Just to alleviate-all this pain.

 

i feel like i am losing my mind.

i feel like i am clearly insane.

i feel like you do not give a

damn.

 

How long do you expect us-

to deal with all this

Mother stuff?

 

When do I get what you have?

A peaceful house alone with my husband-

why is that impossible for you to

understand?

 

thinking too much…

about all this crap & such.

i’ve been walking the highwire

for quite a while

and i’ve been struggling to deal

with things

and wounds

and people

who never heal.

Resentment in my garden

Resentment in my garden-

I often turn to You

when I have problems or issues with

your Mother, because I cannot interact

with her the same way you do.

 

You act like I am such a Fool

for bothering You.

For asking you to handle certain things.

It’s unfair of You,

to get angry with Me-

 

for being unable,

to constantly be taking care of her

and her emotional turmoil

her constant waves

of instability.

 

You clearly expect Me,

to just shut up & deal with it.

Your at work!

This is not your problem!

You know what?

 

This is your problem!!!

She is Your Mother-not Mine.

I have more than enough

of my own issues.

 

So if I contact you -once in a

great while-please do not act

like it’s not your problem,

like I am the one

with all this dirt upon my hands.

 

You expect me & your youngest brother,

to just shut up & take care

of her all the time!!

 

there is resentment in my garden.

It grows there like ivy

I envy You

quite honestly.

You cannot even stand to be around her

for more than 30 minutes at a time…

Yet you expect me to pick up the slack,

and constantly try to deal with her

 

You could help the situation.

But you pretend its a non-issue.

For You perhaps it is.

there is resentment in my garden.

It grows there like ivy

I envy You

quite honestly.

You cannot even stand to be around her

for more than 30 minutes at a time…

Yet you expect me to pick up the slack,

and constantly try to deal with her

 

 

But for us, we deal with her daily.

 

24/7 no breaks involved.

It’s unfair to everybody involved.

Yet you refuse to see,

how being one of Your Mothers

caretakers-takes a toll on me.

 

Not enough

Not enough-

Dec 26th, 2014

Friday Afternoon 2:49 EST

Not enough

Never enough

Not enough

sleep.

Not enough,

to eat.

Not enough,

to touch the sky & kidnap the Sun.

Not enough, to learn how to fly,

just enough to become

untied

undone.

Not enough to reach outwards and find it.

Not enough to reach out, and grab the happy

right off someone else’s face,

because my happy

its become erased

misplaced

lost confusion.

It’s just not enough,

to fix up this place.

It’s not enough to straighten

this room, to clean between the cracks, to sweep

a broom across this dusty room

deep inside my minds eye.

Not enough,

to touch the sky & kidnap the Sun.

Not enough, to learn how to fly,

just enough to become

untied

undone.

It’s not enough to

try to run, to sprint, to finish

the race.

I’m fresh out of lungs

the air is too sharp, cold and dry-

It’s not enough,

to just sit here

waiting for you

to get home.

It’s not enough, to be a failure as a housewife,

to be a successful lunatic

with a Masters Degree

and no job prospects.

It’s not enough

to be a crazy person,

living on SSDI, it’s not enough, to always

live in someone else’s shadow

it’s not enough

to be the ghost

you can come home

and answer too.

Don’t you understand?

My wings may have melted, because I flew

too closely to the Sun

but I have dreams too.

I do not long to be

someone else’s

no one.