Anger-01/01/2015 by Emily Sturgill

Anger is…

A rose color river

of flesh & blood

an eruption of Lava

a tornado without a passage

a volcano without any thought

a clinched fist you do not know you are making.

a tight grasp and grip

onto a stroke

of thunder & lightning.


this abstract emotion



this ugliest of potions

it swallows me whole

just to spit me back out.

I do hurtful things

to those I care

the most about.

Anger is fury

colored crayon color Red

It is

screaming, yelling and shouting

It does not

just break down the door-it kicks it right in!




is universal. An emotion we all have gotten,

whether we care too, or not.

It is the litmus test of Forget-me-nots,

and roses turned spoil-

a lingering rotten smell

as feelings decay

as thoughts do stray

as humans hold grudges

as ships crash then burn

many shipwrecks occur

many wars do too

all in the name

of Anger, its felt universally,

much the same.

Sale Starts Tomorrow: “Sex and the kitchen sink: Poems & Artwork.”

cover art 1 copy


This is my very first self-published e-book of poetry & art. It was published in Jan 2013. Starting tomorrow it will be a kindle countdown deal and be only just 99 cents to buy. I think I may have arranged to keep it at 99 cents the entire kindle countdown-but I cannot guarantee because I actually do not recall.

Anyways if you follow this link tomorrow it should be reduced to 99 cents:

Ok. Everybody get off the computer and go enjoy the rest of your Sunday Evening! Peace Out!!!-Sincerely, Emily

Wicked mood~

Wicked mood,

feeling evil, feeling disappointed, feeling like…

somebody just told me I’d won the lottery.

Only to take it all back away from me.

Feeling as if, God is laughing at  me.

Feeling like I am nothing more-

nor nothing less than somebody’s idea

of a cruel hoax, a butt of jokes, someone who

dances with clowns, and paints her lips red.

i feel like destiny is laughing at me.

That things will never go my way.

But I don’t know why…

I always try.

Perhaps, too hard, as I have been told before,

to just let things unfold.

To trust in the process.

To give in to my subconsciousness

Why Oh Why can’t I get a job?

Why is this just not materializing?

all the meditation and manifestations in the world,

refuse to work.

I’m on the brink of madness,

like the edge of a deep dark ravine.

I try to form words, i try to scream, but its too late.

Nothing makes a sound,

my feet do not miss a beat,

they never hit the ground.

Feeling wicked, feeling Evil.

Tired of the tug and fight

Today, I am tired of the tug and fight.

Between myself and I,

over how I am going to spend my time?

And if I am going to crash soon-

taking a nap? or if I am going to make some kind of art?

or will i read books?

I am so sick of this fight, this tug of war,

between my depressed side and

my manic-laughing hyena side?

I feel like I must be Dr,Jekyll and Mr.Hyde.

I cannot decide which impulses to follow;

do i do something crazy, yet grand, like drawing

a wonderful piece of art, in charcoal or pastels or even crayons?

Or do i tilt my hand-all aces-how grand!

Do I just take another anxiety med and sleep off

all the lame boring excitement,

of trying to create a manuscript or poems or paintings,

or bead another un-bought necklace-which only i will wear?

Tired of the tug and fight.

I want middle ground.

I just took another lithium about an hour ago.

I want all the stability that an entire

Starship fleet of doctors

once promised me.

I always take my meds,

but eventually they stop working-

or just real-life shit problems happen,

and stress me out,

so that my medicines stop working.

i try to be the ideal patient.

Still I remain a hybrid of Dr .Jekyll and Mr.Hyde.

So tired of the tug and fight….useless.

frustrations mount.

depression sizzles.

mania fizzles.

blame it on the weather-

or blame it on the stupid tug and fight,

stupid insanity-

it bites


right in the ass,


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 brain trap

So surprised and relieved,

to be free

of all the tricks my brain played on me.

The brain trap,

is a very dark place-

filled with negative


My imagination likes

to get carried away into the

deepest darkest cracks

of the brain trap.

It’s the pondering that is

the worst,

if i am not overly cautious-

if will carry me away

in a black hearse.

The brain trap

contains; various toys of self-doubt,

depression, despair,fear and loathing…

when I am stuck deep inside myself-

I just want to cry & shout:



enough already.

But sometimes, somehow, someway;

the gray clouds lift and part

the sun comes out

to shine the darkness away.

Relief comes in waves today.

So, see things are not as bad,

as they seemed.

Surprisingly, I take a deep breath,

and my demons go away.

Sometimes somewhere deep inside,

of us all lies a brain trap.

Your brain will lie to you, on occasion,

it happens to both the best & worst of us.

Do yourself a favor,

if your mind is playing tricks, lying and twisting

logic on a stick

do not let it convince you.

Usually in Life nothing is purely,

black nor white,

but a shady color of gray-

life lies in-between.

Do not let yourself fall beneath,

a overwhelming sea

of negativity & anxiety

fight back.


Do not despair,

fight the brain trap.

Stuck on the serene

I’m stuck on the serene.
I am a fly caught by the sky of stars,
onto your cars dashboard’s glass-
smashing fast
beneath windshield wipers cast of silver.

the past is a postcard memory.
a momentary glismpe over my shoulder,
and a 35 cent postage stamp.

there is so much love here.
it covers me, endlessly.
until i breakout like an allergy.
feeling the rash of never belonging/nor…
being worthy of all the love
he sends to me.

I’m a broken down rabbit earred TV screen.
stuck on static and white noise.
i am broken into too many
ancient places
to be fixed by your hi-fi definations.

I am the broken down pay-phone,
in the mental ward which only takes
quaters, and everybody is fresh out,
sadly giving me longing looks of too much pain.

I am the peeling paint job
on the oldest wooden house
abandoned ob our block
windows nailed shut
front door busted into
filled with the evils of crime, rodents of luck and opportunistic stray cats.

I am the fever which makes you sweat.
my heat intensifies
under a heating blanket, some fiction
and a bodybag of a corpse filled to the brim:
with lies.

Sleeping slowly improving…

Since I’ve been back home-

I guess since Tuesday, or Weds or Thursday,

of last week- my sleep has been slowly improving.


This makes my husband very happy.

Although, I have been smoking

cigarettes, much worse than ever.

That is highly upsetting to him.


I try to explain that, no its not forever,

that i am trying to readjust to

the beauty which is



That I am trying to cope,

with a hypo-manic stroke of luck-

a mild mania or mixed state,

It was not great, to have yet

another episode,

even if it was a smaller one.


My doctor says even though I have

been having more episodes than usual the past

2 years- that they all have been mild,

She sees that as a vast improvement.


It’s funny-in the strangest sense-

how many new people I met,

and how many did not really realize,

that something was a bit off with me.


The only ones who knew for sure,

were my husband-who i became paranoid of-

and my doctor-because she’s good

at her job and some sort of pro

at deciphering the Madness.


My sleep is getting better.

I am feeling much more relaxed.

All of which is good.


I’ve been in plans for leading

an Artist Talk-Art therapy workshop,

later this month,

We have been planning it at least 3 or 4 months.


The open art therapy studio and I.

I was kind of frightened I may,

have some sort of episode

and make an ass, of myself.


Now that I have had a shorter and milder

episode, all my meds were basically increased

so that means, I do not have to fear,

another episode for a while.