Gimme a taste:

Gimme me a taste of this:

by Emily H. Sturgill 5/6/15

The color of honeydew

plush inside, hard on the outside.

Inside the soft firm pastel of


I try but its so hard to reach!

Gimme a taste of this:

what is this strange fruit?

What is this strange splice-

this thing called

Happiness…this mysterious?


Gimme a taste of this

the secret of spice.

the strange sound

of my own voice’s


oh dear what is this matter?

this strangely

sweet desire.

Gimme a taste of this

this strange fruit

softly sweet colored peach,

something yummy to eat,

hard as a rock

on its shell.

cracked open the aroma

this sweet smell…

Gimme a taste of this:

the crackling of laughter

the glow inside

of joy

the noise of music

the aroma of something nice

to wear as a cloak

of musty spice.

Gimme a taste of this:


it’s been out of reach,

just so long-now finally

i can pull you closer

and welcome you

into somewhere nice.


The Draw to the Bright side-

The draw to the bright side~10690209_10202380310584146_6677950030328337425_n

Sometimes we begin,

with the best of all attentions,

but we secretly close ourselves

off. We draw the curtains close. We wear

our sunglasses. We begin to feel that there is

no more bright side,

to this life.

But in reality we have shun

the bright side away.

We close ourselves off to illuminations,

We close ourselves off to blue skies,

sunshine, and warm pretty places.

Suddenly our world slips,

from black & white,

into only gray.

We forget about the light.

And the light itself, it grows its wings,

it flies away,

but only because we refuse,

to seek it out.

Life is not only one-sided.

Everyday, there are equal amounts,

of darkness and light

dancing and playing.

Ask yourself, quite honestly, which are

you seeking? The darkness or the light?

Or the beauty found in both?

A glass neither half empty or half full-

remains just a glass, with some water in it

after all…will you drink it or not?

silly questions…

but still  glass remains just a glass.

The cycle of Life

The cycle of Life

is  such that we all Live but someday

we all die too.

I am making it sounds so simplistic-

yet nothing could be farther than true.

The cycle of our Lives is in constant motion.

Ever changing, ever growing, nothing in fact

ever stays exactly the same.

Each day we are living, we must strive

to remind ourselves to enjoy

this journey we are on

for time stops for no one.

Sometimes simple truths are the best,

Live each and everyday

to its fullest; ignore the rest.

The cycle of life is a curious thing.

Nobody has a map to bring, nor directions,

if we falter.

Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to live in

the Here and Now, but exactly what is our

choice or option? To dwell in the distortions of our past,

or to linger in the unknown ever unfolding future,

Or merely breathe in

breathe out

and enjoy these moments of Life rooted in the present,

before time runs out and

Regrets loom large?

Nobody knows the pathway of mortality,

we are born, we live and then someday we will die.

I do not have any wisdom, nor answers,

I cannot explain why.

I just accept this to be a universal truth.

Appreciate the moments of Today for tomorrow

is not promised and the past we cannot change

the key is to living Life to the fullest

in each moment that you can claim.

It’s just the Cycle of Life.

the trickling of thought-drops

the trickling of thought-drops,
dribbling, dripping, downwards
like a leaky faucet.

the emptiness inside
my head
wears me out.

i struggle, as i try,
to reach out and catch a puddle-
of thought-drops.

they are dispensed through
a downwards momentary trend
towards feeling depression.

mild in comparsion,
to most of my wildest-crazy times.
this is more like
a retardation-a slowness-to
the thought-drops.

normally they occur fast as raindrops
during a thunderstorm
of cats and dogs.

but today, i reach behind
the emptiness of my slowest
thinking thought-drops
leaky faucet-
it leaks quietly-
without making a sound.

i look blankly outwards,
my face turns toward
a pale blue clear sky.

so much,
i want to say,
but when i reach out to
touch the words,
then they are gone, glimpsed
but unspoken.

i have run out of
my everything to say
there is nothing here
in the space
behind my brownest eyes.

memoirs of a life filled crazy part-two

The last 3 days, I have been attempting to write a personal narrative, a memoir of sorts on a life filled with crazy. Tons of people from all walks of life write memoirs like this. I had no idea how hard it would be to try to write such a memoir. Most people publish these huge volumes with 200-350 pages. The first day, I wrote roughly twenty pages. Today i worked on trying to expand, refine, lengthen it-my manuscript.

When I reached, a point where I could no longer stand myself-I only had 60 pages. Ugh only 60 pages…kinda more of a short story then a life-story. I tried to get my anti-reading husband to look it over for me-he gave up 11 pages into it. He is a comic-book reader by nature. And also, he reads much slower than I do. He rarely reads for pleasure, unless it is a book from a hit cable TV series or a book where they made an awesome movie. He barely, reads his college textbooks and he is really smart so he can get away with that crap-I never could.

It hurt my feelings he could not get into it. I took my bedtime bipolar meds at 8pm and attempted to just go to bed. But he kept pestering me, was I mad at him? Why did I want to go to bed? Is everything ok? He got overly cuddly. Then I finally turned on him and began tickling him. He is rarely ticklish but tonight I got his sweet spot. He was ticklish everywhere. So I got him to leave me alone and I made him laugh-so that’s gotta count for something.

I’m not sure how many more re-visions, I can go through. I want to paint a picture of my life, how it was like, just so others could reap benefits from reading about some of it. But I want the picture to be very blurry and vague. I do not want to share “everything.” and I am sure that’s part of my problem.

Some wounds are so raw that they never heal. Yet, on the other hand I have been through Hell and back again, in one piece. There is useful knowledge and wisdom somewhere if I could find it.

Are you a coffee smoker?

I was once asked this,
by a well-meaning oral surgeon,
“Are you a coffee smoker?”
“Why yes, indeed I am” was my retort-as my husband started laughing in the background.

We still laugh over that one sometimes.
It was a strange question, yet clearly,
we both instantly knew
what he meant,
Do you drink coffee?
Are you a smoker?

Smoking coffee itself is a bizarre concept.
Just thinking about it,
reminds me of the kind older oral surgeon.
He was a very nice man.

Not sure why this moment popped up in my head?
I’m having a weird sort of day.
Michigan decided to put Spring,
back on it’s bookcase again.

We woke up to more Winter-
four inches this morning,
after being so mild all week.

I hate the snow-but only sporadically,
other times I love how pretty it looks.
Today, it just feels cold.


Life is like a blanket,
Some days, it’s warm and cozy,
other days it is old and holey.

Life is like a blanket,
it wraps you up tight, keeping you warm
throughout the longest night.

Life is like a blanket.
Something to reassure you, that comfort is there,
just behind the deepest mist.

Life is like a blanket.
Sometimes it comes apart at the seams, it goes
into the wash and never comes clean.

But still some of the strongest cloth,
and fabric remains, spinning threads which
fray out into hope,

yes Life is like a Blanket.
It covers us all, encompassing our hopes, fears, and
dreams upon a single stretch of stars under galaxies.

Even when the fabric frays, some truth tumbles out.
Even the darkest nights are filled with the brightest stars.
Never doubt, hope is real, and trust will win out.

Mood swings

Some days,

and my mood can

switch on a nickel.

everything can be groovy great,

then its like my mind is on fire.

all the emotions build up,

and i am crying on the inside out again.

I have never done well

with anger, expressions of negative

emotions the burned out

pent up rage of hell.

it smolders,it burns, and ravages me-

quickly like brush-fire.

and only those, who take the time,

to know me very well,

can see that i’m on fire,

that something or somebody’s

made me madder than hell.

And in that instant, i have a choice,

to say something or not…

to just release it out,

in a single breath,

instead of a rampage of

swearing or curse words or even worse.

Because there’s one thing i know,

and it’s the power of words,

they jab, they cut, they stab

so eaisily

often they leave bruises, but not

on skin,

on a person’s soul instead.

but most days,

i know enough the taste of regret,

the remorse on my coarse lips,

that i say nothing,

and only stare

off into space

with a secret anger

i cannot misplace.