Sunday, June 3, 2018

The Dream

I could write something about living the dream. 
About the romance, the passion, the goal. 
I could write that the world is out there waiting for you, could tell you all you have to do is grab it. 
I guess those are fair points. 
There’s truth living in their syllables. 
But I think bloody knuckles and tired eyes make up more of the dream than anything. 
Anxiety, losing sleep. 
Split lips, sunburned wrists, long ass days and rope burns. 
The dream isn’t all the dreamy. 
It’s more like wearing glass shards for diamonds and blood for lipstick. 
Calloused up fingers, handshake like a man. 
Dues to be paid, money made. 
It’s not just a quote about following your heart. 
There’s a lot more blood in it than that.  
Inner war. 
Asking yourself every question that ever creeped through your conscience. 
Your eyes straining for sleep with your mind still screaming. 
‘Is this what you really want?’ 
‘Can you do it?’ 
And yet I have no earthly idea of what’s ahead of me. 
These are just my young, naƬve ramblings. 
About things I haven’t earned the right to preach. 
But if I could tell you something and you’d believe it, I’d tell you to feel.
Don’t neglect to rest. 
I’d tell you to love, breathe, run. 
See the world. 
Get what you want. 
That’s life. 
No agendas or plans. 
Teach yourself to live without criteria. 
You’ll become the person you were destined to be. 
Scars like wounds earned in battle, worn with a sort of pride. 
They stayed with you to tell their story. 
Don’t you owe that to yourself? 
To hang with it long enough to tell your story?

Xoxo, Gussie 


Tuesday, May 15, 2018

Somewhere Inbetween

You ever been so mind f*cked you begin to wonder wether you were meant for something or if it just happened to you? 
Did you fight for this?
Or were you just fighting for bloody knuckles and nothing more?
Trying to get out of my own head.. or in it, not sure which one. 
A look over cold coffee and he asked me “What if I can’t be a gypsy forever?” 
There was something romantic in sleep deprivation and branding season. 
In the horse sweat, sleeping in a bedroll, dancing in green grass half lit from more than the moonlight. 
Something about the gut wrenched anxiety you had hidden under the layers of smile and grit. 
Wanting so bad to have a plan just an idea, anything. 
High on sunshine and sniffling your nose a thousandth time over cuz you just can’t kick the cold. 
I suppose I’m stuck in the wrong state of mind. 
Must’ve taken a wrong turn, fell off the wagon, got lost somewhere and ended up between realms. 
I’ve been changing for a while tho, today I looked back on who I was 2 years ago, wow. 
I’m another person, you wouldn’t even recognize me. 
Thank the Lord. 
So no, I’m not really that broken. 
I’m just telling you the shit. 
You know, the kind that lingers and lurks. 
The real stuff. 
Cause nobody stays the same and you won’t either. 
You’re gonna change, grow up, move on. 
Life’s going to happen to you. 
Let it happen for you.  

XoXo, Gussie 

Monday, March 26, 2018

Just in Ink

I wrote from somewhere I wasn’t even supposed to be.
About something that never should have meant anything to me.
Inky claw marks left on paper as a means to bleed out, for some relief.
That was my only fight.
I tried to scream, I did.
But when I’m mad I cry.
I wanted to stand up for myself, step out of my own skin.
Believe me.
Maybe if I tried harder.
But how?
Do I try harder to make it right?
Or harder to fight?
At this point I don’t know which is winning.
Or just don’t try?
Am I in too deep?
Over think, no wait, over drink.
Liquor for courage to give me looser lips.
I told you this story, but does it make sense?
I wrote it with cold fingers, and I suppose it really is no story.
Words on paper.
No more.
But at least I finally wrote them.
I’ll cling with white knuckles to that little victory.
That’s been really hurting, how I feel I’ve somehow lost that part of me.
I’m still mad and hurt, giddy and joyful, alive.
I haven’t changed all that much.
My hands forgot how to write is all.
Perhaps at a time when my mind is to be growing, it’s grown all too small.
No, it’s not what you think.
For the thousandth time, stop telling me.
Telling me that “It’s ok” and “Don’t worry.”
I know it is.
‘Cause even when it’s not ok I keep breathing.
So don’t mistake me.
Though I tend to scribble words in places all too confusing.
I’m not broken, and neither are you.
It’s ok to be hurting, I’ve found it won’t kill you.
Even if you want it to.
So you’re best just to feel it.
Let it steep and let it stew.
Make it something, painful and brutal, and beautiful, even if only just to you.

XoXo Gussie

Friday, March 2, 2018

Broken Pens and a Legal Pad

I woke up with horse sweat still in my busted knuckles and 3 am hangover breathe.
No sun yet.
I found notes and a tune but lost my words.
Maybe I wrote because I didn't have time for shit to be real.
Perhaps all my cooped up emotions got bled out of a broken purple pen like bruises on a yellow legal pad.
Left there.
You probably noticed the sudden scarcity of ramblings.
They got lost behind forbidden statements.
Forgotten thoughts.
I always promise to tell you someday.
Foolish I suppose.
I told myself I'd stand up; change.
Do something.
Maybe.
Last night I listened to a horse ease in and puff breathes out onto my skin.
I spend everyday with their mane in my fingers and a leg on either side, yet I never even listen to them breathe.
I want to watch a sunset, wake up early, steal a kiss.
Just live.
No more empty promises on replay, a broken record skipping like an old name did off my lips.

And maybe with a little luck I'll be a bit less of a strung out writer, make a little more sense.

XoXo, Gussie


Sunday, December 31, 2017

Bittter

I didn’t write a novel, build a house or buy a car. 
I didn’t sell my soul to see the ocean or kiss a stranger behind a bar. 
I left my check book on the counter in some broken little town. 
Fumbling with shivered fingers, finding. 
Finding what I am now. 
If I’m being honest I haven’t brushed my hair in 3 days,
and I guess I never really waited for your appraise. 
Make me a broken doll with golden lace, leather sandals and a dirty face. 
My heart won’t sing some pretty song,
It leak my secrets, bleeds my blood;
But the chorus just sings wrong.  
Kiss me on the lips, whisky with a promise. 
The kind kept, the kind that won’t haunt us. 
Please. 
Please find me. 
Find me somewhere with my hands in my pockets and my eyelids bare, soon now. 
Tell me about how we once were something before you tore us down. 
Burnt fingers, new skin. 
Old lies, another sin. 
Forbidden colors, broken home. 
Sudden romance, 
Thru the phone. 
Cut me off. 
I beg you so. 
Take me home, 
Oh please just go. 
I said goodbye, 
Not quite right. 
You whispered quiet, goodnight. 
Let me go, 
Wouldn’t kill you. 
Guess it hurt, 
Wish it chilled you.  
Cut me off,
At the neck.
Told me you had nothing left. 
Hurt me now,
I want out.
Kiss goodbye. 

Who are you now?

XoXo Gussie

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

A-Z

I had a pen and paper ready to tell you a story. But I think it‘s better left for later not so easily explained with a letter. A-Z will probably fail me. So on second thought I’ll ramble shortly about how easy one year leaves. 
The sunrises are prettiest up here in the winter time when the frost blows the sun’s first breathe back on her. My shoulders wear freckles now like a story Montana left on my skin and I’m sure there’ll be more. It was just February and now it’s December and I’ve left so many pieces drifting in between. I bet I never could tell you what all I’d like to though. Like how May was sweet relief to get outside and breathe then June kept me running till July knocked me off my feet. August pushed me and made me do things I didn’t think I could with my fingers in grey mane. October whispered goodbye like summer time gone, fast and cold. November was new memories and another saga from someone I used to know. December was a brand new cowboy and hello to a whole new life. 
I’ll see you after the ball drops and we have a fresh slate. You’ll find me likely with music too loud and tasteless words slipping from the smile on my lips.
 Love you

XoXo Gussie 













Monday, May 15, 2017

Smokey

He was round, black feet and a soggy back that didn't hold a saddle too well. 
Nothing special ya know, made mostly of heart and grit. 
Gray going white with a ratty mane and tail. 
I was 2 short legs kicking for all I was worth and a sleepy, little girl dozing in the saddle. 
He was my big gray home, my first home before the yellow one came along. 
His silky neck is where I draped my little arms to cry and he was the first horse I hung a bridle on. 
He was baby me's pen riding horse and on frosty mornings he'd still get a lil froggy.
He was a couple strands of tail hair that I rat-holed in my pocket and the first pony to give me a taste of dirt. 
I remember sitting atop a full packed pack saddle and riding down the mountain with just a lead rope trailed up to my hand. 
He was my first definition of "broke". 
He'd stand just a waiting for me to untangle myself and then trot in for another heel shot. 
I remember a steep mountain side and my little feet slipping and getting caught between his legs. 
Him just standing there stock still waiting for me to get up. 
Every now and then he'd be plum full of piss and vinegar but never when I was counting on him. 
He weaved me through nasty back country, across shell rock and ice, brush and high waters. 
He was the horse mommy trusted to send her baby girl out on. 
No, he couldn't spin a hole in the ground or run hard and fast, and he wasn't drop dead gorgeous, just a grade, gray horse. 
But he's why I'm where I am today and he's the first horse to carve himself into the creases of my heart. 
I got to be a careless little wanderer and never loosing faith, he was my guardian angel sent by God's grace. 
He had dark, soft eyes and they were the mirror I stared into and began my soul search. 
Our goodbye was the first in my chain of broken hearts, crocodile tears dripping and falling hard. 
They told me that I'd never forget my first love, I do believe they're right. 
I just heard last night that he's crossed the great divide, 
and I'll be happy to see his gray hide back in my string when I get to the other side. 

XoXo, Gussie