My other blog

http://dirtyfilthybutterflyblues.blogspot.com/

This is my other blog. I do not write on it nearly often enough. I am rather “hooked” on wordpress.com Primarily because, I do get more feedback on this blog and more traffic and more attention…but yesterday I wrote something kinda sorta good on the other blog. The post was called,”Nervous Nelly.”

And Here it is:

Nervous Nelly by Emily Sturgill

5/18/13

 

Nerves of steel,

turned to jelly-what has happened to me?

The Scattered Strung out Capital

Letter “S” fell

right off my chest.

 

Now I have become nothing more -

nor nothing less,

than a nervous nelly,

a girl put to a test.

 

I wonder why I bother,

to write such dribble-drabble,

that’s likely as all sorts

of hell,

to get me into trouble.

 

I worried what people will think or feel,

when they read what I have written.

I question myself, my sanity, and my writer’s ability…

 

So much, is just never thought out,

I’m a bit like the faucet,

that never finishes dripping out.

I dribble,dangle, words

into something reductive.

 

a subtraction of emotion,

a fraction of truth, and than

what else???

 

The “S” fell off my chest so very long ago…

I doubt it was ever really there.

Nobody’s superhero-lately,

just another crazy-lady.

 

One who talks too much,

and shouts crap from the roof-tops,

and cobweb corners and such

a mumbling muttering crazy old hag.

 

A bag of flesh and bones,

drifting upon a sea of words,

best left unspoken,

 

but deep inside of me,

there lies,

an utter and angry bitch

 

and she does and says what-ever,

when-ever, she wants too,

not much I can do to rein her in,

my bipolar drugs/meds they help,

to a bit to calm her inner storms.

 

yet still deep within, she’s an angry bad girl.

and I am a nervous nelly.

Writing down so many secrets from

my head.

 

What will people say? What will they think? And how will they feel?

Is it too personal to admit,

I do go crazy from time to time.

at least i don’t live there anymore.Acrylic mixed media pumice gel painting 1996 canvasboard Self-portrait photo may 2013Picture 94Spirituality, acrylic and sand on canvasboard 1996

On the Go: Change, Transformation, & Action through Art

Reblogged from creativity in motion:

Click to visit the original post

I've been prepping for some art therapy offerings I'll be teaching and presenting on this summer that highlight the use of art as a tool for change, transformation, and action:

In June, I'll be teaching Advocacy and Empowerment: Social Action and Trauma Informed Care as an intensive summer course for graduate students in Ursuline College's Art Therapy & Counseling Program…

Read more… 301 more words

Art Therapy. Gretchen Miller. Awesome Artist and Art Therapist...

Song of These Last Encounters

Reblogged from Wuji Seshat Nibada:

I have lost self to love
Permanently, now by this heart
Furled, in primitive ecstasy
My relationship with the world
Is now a suppliant violin's moan

That drags itself to dovelet cooing
These moments are lucid gifts
Of touching and nearing
The broad brightness where self is forgotten
Pain lurking in an unknown smile

I have lost the bravery of battle…

Read more… 86 more words

This is just so damn fine poetry. Hauntingly beautiful. Excellent imagery.

The Bubonic cold

I’m sure I am being overly dramatic,

but my husband was sick all last week,

and now I definitely have gotten it too…

It feels like a plague… but it’s merely a Bubonic Cold.

(See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bubonic_plague)

Now, I realize this is not the middle ages,

and I’m hardly at Death’s door.

Yet I’m feeling hellish just the same.

All snot, all wore out,cannot care enough-

to peel myself out of my pj’s.

My whole head feels like a massive implosion or explosion,

cannot decide which,

just feel horrible and sick.

ick, can you pass me another kleenex?

It does not matter actually-

I am mostly just congested,

since i took a 12 hour sudafed about 7 hours ago.

It’s definitely some sort of bubonic head cold.

I have no appetite what so ever…just so hot then cold.

I have grand plans, in the scheme of things, to take a hot shower-

and then create a VAT of chicken soup-which I hope i drown in.

(not really just kidding. but cold’s suck.)****damn-husband’s home and insisting I try to eat real food not soup.

My husband is an excellent cook/chef/what-have-you…He is bbq-ing pork chops and making my favorite lipton mushroom rice, probably also have baked beans. (I still want soup.) But I cannot turn him down.

travel ticket

Oh, the places, I will go,

just with a cup of hot, darken, black coffee,

and a single scratched up CD.

The music invokes memories.

Nothing specific, yet allows my mind the freedom-

to travel freely floating by,

on a chorus or a verse…

Time, is one thing I have plenty.

If my CD skips a beat, I just wait it out, nothing is sweating me.

The southern twang to a voice, a bluesy pitch, a melody-

something like a story-

somebody’s singing crazy, good tunes, and I love

the honesty that lies in the land,

of The Blues.

A single song on repeat,

could transport me-anywhere-a story

or a fantasy or even a dream?

Pour yourself a cup of caffeine, grab a chair, and

put some music on-

come travel with me,

tickets to unknown destinations-

all paid for-

for free.