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Follow me on facebook please!Picture 149 Warming up with color abstract 2 Fall 2013 Spirals of Song and other poems book cover1 Picture 161 Warming up with color abstract 1 Fall 2013 Abstract oil pastel drawing 99 cover design for words whirl 2013 copy Falling to pieces by EHCato 1999 IMAG0893 IMAG0898 IMAG0897 Art before words new front cover copy back cover art before words3 copy self portrait 05012013 Picture 94 Acrylic mixed media pumice gel painting 1996 canvasboard Spirituality, acrylic and sand on canvasboard 1996 possible coverart1 copy Athena wiccan11 IMG_20130330_093258

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Simplicity part 2-dedicated to my friend Erin D.

Picture 161Picture 158Picture 160

Simplicity

2 parts bitter-sweet vinegar

2 parts harmony

one dash of Hope

one sprinkling of Faith,

one Tablespoon full of miracles.

1/2 stick of helplessness melted but not burnt brown.

1/4 cup memories

16 oz of pure, unstrained Love

1 graham pie crust of sorrows

1 can of heavy-whipping cream

2 tbs allspice, 2 tbs cloves, 4 tbs fresh honesty

one classic ceasar salad of velvet covered sadness

one case of dark irish beer…

blend with one bag of Catholic Guilt,

add two whole egg-yolks

add 7 hail-marys and one quart of confessions.

Blend with a twist of hard scotch whiskey, empathy as a orange peel, a cherry

with-out its stem, some liquid courage, one King James version of

The Holy Bible.

Some false idols/some fake friends/those who will swear by you/

yet they disappear in the end?

I trust nobody who says to me, that they will “pray for me,”

I wish i were not a bitch like that, but i totally am-such a bitch.

I am not going to offend them by declining their pray offers-

but i am not going to depend on them for this junk.

I usually merely responded with Thank you-or thank you very much-whatever.

Prayers are both sweet and nice-

if they are done right.

But true friends do more than have private jesus jams/

talks on your behalf.

True friends know when you are sad, And sense when you need to have a small

phone-call chat. true friends listen and practice the,

Fine Art of Allowance-

meaning they allow you to be sad.

They do not try to cram you into a shoebox

with too much duct tape,

and scrawl the word “Happy”

onto your head-in order to make themselves feel better.

Real friends want you to feel better,

but when you get around to it.

Real friends allow you,

to simply FEEL.

They allow you to be-

They allow you to grieve and to suffer.

They realize there is no universal time clock on

one feeling verses another.

I wrote this out for a friend of mine.

Her mane is Erin-we kinda grew up together.

Anyways, her mother just recently passed away due to Cancer,

this past march on st.patricks day.

Erin and her twin Bridget are both my friends.

I did not realize how huge their family is until very recently,

Anyways yesterday, Erin was having a bad day,

and she shared with her fb friends she really missed her mother.

I was completely floored with all the useless facebook comment messages

she was getting. There were just so fake to me.

So i commented myself-and i was not trying to impress facebook-or Erin or anybody else.

I just wished to say something that could comfort Erin and be

totally completely “real” and “honest” with her.

I was just being me, I was just being emily.

She wrote me later, in a private facebook message, Thank you so much , you knew just how I was feeling and how much my messages helped her.

That really made my evening last night.

It is a good feeling to be a good friend to somebody you forever care for,

cherish and sisterly love.

True friendships among women are not always,

easy to find or to maintain.

But once I’ve formed a friendship bond-

with another female- I keep those friends

out and treasure them immensely.

It really takes a whole pile of damages for me,

to no longer consider a woman my friend.

Once a friend, always a friend, at least that is where

my loyalties take me. So many beautiful feminine friends:

Each is like a precious gem or a secret treasure to me.

I LOVE my friends-all of them.

even the cob-webbed covered ancient ones,

those are kind of crunchy

but i just love them all the more-for it!!!!

Something broken

She cannot put a finger

on why, but there is something there

deep inside

broken and rusted

despite being encased in honey

and a touch of lovely

love.

She knows that the two parts must connect

come together and securely fit

in a mechanical motion

to produce an organic product

1/2 of her and 1/2 of him

that’s all the recipe calls for

and yet she cannot put her finger on it.

The two come as one well-maintained machine,

but nothing is ever produced or created.

She does not know why,

simply feels the bareness

on the inside

longing to know why she cannot fix

the broken pieces deep inside

and she just feels

a touch of something kinda, something that is, something where the;

sadness grows.

 

Depressed slightly

Yesterday, oh how I cried.

Huge horrible torrents of tears.

My husband did not know what to do-

he never really does, when I stumble

backwards into depression again.

My manias are easier for him to understand-

and he’s seen so many more of those-than this.

This black terror fit.

This wave crashing downwards upon me,

crushing me to the bone.

crushing me to my soul.

When I get like this, I cannot help myself;

I collapse in crying fits, jagged waves with razor teeth edges.

I cry so hard,  I barely make a sound-just this gasping breathe-this sobbing mess.

I realize, of course I have so many blessings.

I have a loving husband, for the most part a very happy marriage.

I have many friends. I have a roof over my head, bills are paid, food in the house.

5 lovely fur-pets. A beautiful house and backyard. Our backyard has wonderful

rose bushes.

But despite all the good-the depressions still sneak up upon me.

I cry for the have-nots.

I cry because I cannot find employment.

I have been looking over 18 months.

I cry because I have a history of miscarriages,

and infertility. I cry because I have mental illness, and

no matter how hard I try or which magic pills I swallow

I am still slightly crazy one day to the next.

I feel as though because I have been on disability so long…

that I have no worth as a person. I believe a job or a career

in many ways defines you, and for me? I have nothing but years of blank spaces.

I just recently finished a masters degree. Unfortunately, after I got it, I realized;

it is a slightly useless one. I should have gotten a counseling degree…

instead I got a masters of Education: major in art Ed with a core focus of art therapy.

As lovely as that sounds, nobody will hire me.

I do not even have a teaching certificate.

I owe a fortune in student loans…

This most recent hypomania-back at the end of may-

well it nailed me.

And now I’m spiraling downwards without a staircase.

Frustrations mount.

I struggle with broken-down-hands

to grab the gratitude, the blessings, the happiness

the optimism still there.

There is great love all around in this big beautiful world.

I need to find some deep inside myself, forgive my own

imperfections and share something pretty with the world.

The wolf and red riding hood

What happens to the girl,

when she realizes its not grandma-in her bed,

its a wolf instead.

 

And his teeth are scary sharp and mean,

they glisten and gleam

with anger, rage, and heartache

verging

on a natural disaster.

 

What should the girl do,

should she trust the wolf with its

bright pretty eyes

and his lengthy explanation-

filled with nothing but lies?

 

“Baby, I won’t hurt you.”

“Baby lets work things out…”

“Baby, this marriage is worth saving.”

“When i mentioned murder-suicide in a casual way-it was because i was only joking.”

“You believe me right? Folks say stuff like that all the time but never mean it…”

Yeah, well…not so much.

 

 

That was when red riding hood spied

her grandmothers shiny bare bones

in their walk-in closet.

 

Never trust a wolf,

right there and then she decided.

A wolf is always lying.

Sorry for the lengthy bitchy post

Sorry to get on my pedestal,

spouting what an angel,

I am-despite-the fact,

I know i can be difficult.

Especially during my manias,

or mixed episodes…

then I’m no angel-

i’m hell on wheels…a tortured soul,

spreading the misery, drama and what-not.

 

But sometimes, even when stable,

or steady, i got a lot on my plate,

filled to the brim of

“real” life drama issues…

 

Since I no longer have my

Community Mental Health therapist-just

a real nice Psychiatrist…

I really have nobody left to confide too.

 

I tell my husband things,

and my best girl pal,

but other than that,

it builds up.

 

A storm before the lightening comes.

A high-blowing, gasping wind,

A burning fire raging to the top,

my inner child fighting to remain

safe within-yet screaming all the same-

she wants out again.

 

A dose of PMS,

some raging hormones,

poor sleep due to a

horrid cold…

I could not help myself.

 

I had to puke the words out,

before my anger devoured me whole.

Smoldering in memories-

ugly, angry and bruised

my self-esteem fragments

of a shiny broken mirror.

 

i hate what i see.

she looks horrific, madder than hell,

this bitch mess of me,

i do not recognize the lips

which snarl, the wide eyed angry stare.

 

i cannot look myself in the mirror today.

i do not dare.

 

Sometimes i need to just vomit the ugly,

right out of my vocabulary,

before i drown-

in a tidal-wave sea

of resentment or agony.

 

Gotta get rid of this feeling,

a feeling like raw violence-

like punching a wall,

or banging my head against a door-

 

until it’s bleeds…

or the door magically opens,

just a crack

letting the sunshine in.

Off-center

feeling a bit,

off-center, a bit out-of-whack,

feeling on the verge

of another;

Panic Attack.

Feeling off-center,

dealing with issues of infertility,

feeling hopeless-like a sailsboat-without sails-

so instead of sailing-

i simply float-there-off-center.

Many other Women,

do this dance of infertility & madness,

it seems to always feel like its the woman’s fault.

although it may even be the mans…

that concept seems far-fetched and hard to grasp.

Each month,

I hope, although I never bother to pray,

but i hope things will be different,

that somehow our childless lives will change.

Some women, chart their cycles religiously, take their basal temps each and every-day, using ovulation predictor kits, or invest in high cost treatments like IVF. I cannot afford things like ovulation kits or IVF treatments, or alternative therapies.

I can barely afford the one thing I’ve got:

a thing called Hope.

That’s all i got, and sometimes it does not feel enough,

as if, i am just mere inches away, from touching the sky.

Last month, pain was horrible. I wound up in the ER and diagnosed with 2 cm Ovarian cyst.

This month not only my mind, but my body has been playing tricks on me.

I swear, I’m having pregnancy symptoms despite my monthly bleed.

My period just was not heavy enough to be normal-even for me-and the PMS still has not gone away,

yet the bleeding did. It came 2 days early, I usually count day 1 as any spotting-but technically they say to start count from the first day of true blood. Which would mean i really only had a sort of period bleeding for only 2 days the other 3 were brown spots and inconsistent. I’m still having bad cramps, and i keep getting sick to my stomach, and my boobs hurt so badly when my hubby bite my nipple 2 days ago it still hurt 3 hours later. Food bores me-i have loss all interest. Even stuff i like fails to excite. Hate to say it-been pregnant before-feel that way again.

I’m sure tomorrow they will give me a hpt urine test before my MRI-

just off-center, feeling confused on what they will find.

sorrow encased in a whisper

Here you go,
take this-quickly-please
do not drop it-it is something secret-
here is my sorrow, its encased in a whisper.

Here please keep it somewhere safe.
For, i have carried it too long,
it’s becoming burdensome.
Something very heavy and steep.

here please can you just get rid of it for me?
Here it is all my sorrow
it’s fragile, like I am, it’s encased
beneath this whisper.

Take it someplace far from me.
Take it away, let it run free.
Get rid of this secret sadness
this thing i can no longer bear.

Take this sorrow encased
in my whisper,
take it away and drown it
in sunlight and flowers.

Help me pick of the pieces
of all my broken tomorrows.
Take this sorrow away and replace it
with something beautiful,

Replace it with Hope,
or Faith,
or Strength,
or Happiness
or Wisdom…

Just please got rid of this sorrow,
encased in my muffled
whisper. Let it go.

chronic pain

when you suffer from
a chronic pain disorder,
people frequently
try to tell you, that,
the pain you feel
is all made up in your head.

So then therefore, your not only
hurting all over but
your lying or just plain crazy too.

If somebody smiles at you
knowingly and promises
surgery as a cure,
then they may not only be
violating their oath
of do no harm

but they also maybe
clearly wrong.

Why take chances like that?
It’s extreme, and chronically
broken, this healthcare
riot of a system-

we are stuck in.
you try to trust them, after all,
they are doctors right?

however sometimes it pays,
to get a second,
or even third or fourth,
opinion.

Especially, if the doctor
in question appears to
be selling snake-skin oil
claiming its pure gold.

It’s not always easy to see the liars,
from the rest or
who you determine,
is the best.

But if your 6th sense,
is tingling like crazy
like somebody is full of shit
and lying to you,

i would say trust your
heart above all else.
Do not take drastic measures,
if you feel against it.

then follow your own advice.

****one more poem about this: http://dirtyfilthybutterflyblues.blogspot.com/2013/04/meltdowns-from-madness.html

you want fries with that?

This was first posted on the other blog on
blogspot-dirtyfilthybutterflyblues
but i wrote it all by myself like 15 min ago-
(by Emily Sturgill, 2013)

You want fries with that?
You want fries with that?
I imagine my ob-gyn saying,
as he nonchalantly suggests,
what i really need,
is but of course;

a total and complete
hysterectomy, uterus,ovaries
everything out…because
that would “cure” me
absolutely for sure…

I look at him rather blankly,
he says it as if its no big deal
this sterilization of everything

female and mine.
He does acknowledge, once again,
the bare facts, that my husband and I
would like to have a baby.

He insists this with false cheer,
that we should definitely do IVF then
get the hysterectomy later, on the side so to speak.
As if i were as simple as marching right up
to the local IVF store and buying a single
baby gift card. Yeah, right, I’ll be sure
to get right on it,

in a jiffy, as soon as I win the mega millions jackpot.
And, I will certainly consider your “promised cure.”
as soon as I decide to give up on everything
and opt for dangerous surgeries,
that come with instant menopause
attached.

So pissed off right about,
NOW. He even said at my age, pregnancy is highly,
unlikely, in 8 weeks I will turn 39.
So yeah, I guess I will go with

the king-size, large order of hysterectomy, to go
with a appetizer of IVF, a large sweet tea, some infertility;
oh yes, I would like fries with that.

Did i mention I fucking hate doctors?
It’s ridiculous. I’m not going to have anybody remove all
my lady parts, just because, they would
like a hefty paycheck-bonus.

i think i can see the future.
I’m getting a vision right now,
clear as day, this is the last visit
to your office for me.

Goodbye. Nice knowing you,
but nothing personal,
just go screw you.
thanks, I think i’ll take the fries,
but hold off on everything else.