Wednesday, June 24, 2015


It was a kind of romantic the way our horses' bodies would drop and raise beneath us as they trotted headlong out into uneven country.
Their nostrils wide and sucking wind, their hides wet from the splash of their hooves in a boggy meadow.
A hollow rhythm beat itself into the ground mumbling a low and homey tune.
We'd look over at each other with broke horses between our knees, aware but somehow still ignorant to how nice they really were and we kept moving.
Voices would ring up with giggles following like echos behind every word and grins plastered on our faces, sore cheeks.
Our shoulders ached and we were just two dark haired girls that liked to rope together.
Hoofbeats hung in the wind with the sound of crickets rolling.
I guess we were all blind to the danger we danced around. Maybe that's why we love it so much.
It's ever changing and constantly new.
A craving, an addiction, just like coffee before sunrise burning you up inside, probably killing you but it was good.
Calves bellowed, our eyes were bright shadowed by inky, black clouds.
I loved it.
I finally found home.
And it was such a joke for me to think that home was something with walls and floors, windows and doors.
Because it wasn't, not for me.
My home always had four legs and sweaty hides, heavy breathes and dark, honest eyes.
It was the touch, the feel, the distinctly different way of existing, it was all about energy, it was all about the horses.
I always felt it but never paid enough attention.
My heart never ached unbearably there and my problems always seemed more open and clear.
I was forced to be honest with myself, no jokes, no games, no avoiding the truth.
I learned to feel safe in momentary danger and I learned to love adrenaline coursing through me.
I felt greater reward, greater pain, more strength, much more weakness, more give back, less take.
Just alive.
The injuries have always been minuscule and I'm blessed for that.
And it wasn't easy, it still isn't and it's not all past tense either, it must just sound better that way.
I found home young and I'm so damn blessed for that.


Tuesday, June 16, 2015


Fireworks: that's what they say love feels like.
Explosions that breathe life into our hearts and make us believe in love.
They make it sound so amazing.
All of those songs and poems forget something though.
They never remind our excited spirits that we might get set on fire once we get too close.
I guess we all kind of know, I mean that's why "love is scary" right?
Maybe we like getting burned now and again, maybe it makes us feel alive.
Maybe we are just longing to feel something..anything..that even burning is worth it.
And we never realize that love letters aren't alway true love's letters.
We don't understand all those quotes.
The ones that tell us we won't find ourselves in others, that someone won't complete us until we complete ourselves.
We keep searching, yearning like we're missing something.
And I guess those poets were right to leave out their scars, that's why they were writing after all, to try to fix their broken pieces.
They wanted to make a new reality, the perfect love they almost had.
That, or they leave the blood on the table, sign their signature with it hoping that somehow it might help them move on from the throbbing.
Either way we were right from the start, and hell yeah, love is scary.
But life is all about the risk, the unpredictability, the unknown, so no wonder we're drawn to it.
Because it might kill you, burn you, break you, shake you, turn you inside out and torment you.
It might be all sweaty palms and shaking voices, but you might luck out.
Maybe, just maybe, by the grace of God it might turn into colorful dragonflies and fluffy, white clouds, sunny days and warm rain showers.
"Good mornings" whispered into your ears and the kind of tedious fights that make you crave passion and love more, it might become intertwined fingers and intertwined hearts.
You might luck out.
So tell me, is it worth the shooting stars that we make blow up in the sky, in all of their unpredictable colors on the 4th of July?

Photo cred: Google images


Friday, June 12, 2015

Hazy Promises

I’ve been on the warm side of cold shoulders and on the bloody side of love.
I saw the broken hearts of others, the fake smiles on their faces and tried so desperately to fix them...I guess I never quite got it.
The way you feel shredded inside and the sun seems either oddly dim or annoyingly bright. 
Naive. Yeah, I guess that’s what you’d call it.

And I hate writing about love.
It's too much in my head and the more I try to sort it out the more confusing it becomes. 
You know the way it is untying knots... how it looks more simple from the outside but there are thousands of strings being pulled each way.
I think that's what my emotions must look like. 
So I'll focus on the horses and the way things seem to work out so surprisingly perfect; the way opportunity is falling into my hands. 
I love the way their dark eyes look at me so differently than any others and I'm not afraid.
Hints of pain haunt my writing and I want you to know there are reasons.
One you day you'll touch your skin and it'll be cold but it's going to warm up, I promise.
You'll look in the mirror and see those tears falling like little clear pebbles but they'll dry up, I promise. 
Pain is temporary, that's what they all say anyway. 
I won't lie to you. Sometimes your heart is going to look ugly, like a tornado came and overturned your secrets. 
You're okay though.
Flaws become your perfections in someone else's eyes. 
Take a deep breathe and look at the sky.
You are the sky.
Some days you'll be dark and stormy and mad at the world, screaming and stomping and tormenting with winds and rains. 
Oh but darling, those days make the prettiest sunsets.

XoXo, Gussie

Friday, June 5, 2015


I'm fresh out of things to say that might have any hint of meaning to you.
So today I'll just let the profound words of others resonate in your minds.

Xoxo Gussie

Monday, June 1, 2015


It all started when I learned to move my fingers because then I could begin my addiction to lacing them in horse mane. I got hooked on my addictions young, they must've always been pulsing beneath my skin. Like the water we drink and all of our body's yearnings. I fell in love with the feel of dewy grass between my fingers in the morning. I crave horse hair and horse sweat, their hearts beating beneath me. Aspens whispering from the mountain side telling me their sorrows and triumphs. I was plagued with that fall in love young, hard and fast tendency and it eats at me whenever my eyes are open. And sometimes in my dreams. I've been looking at plane tickets and figuring out how can I possibly pack my clothes in this amount of space...dear heavens I can't forget my moccs. I'm hungry for what's to come and all of the new, oily hides that I'll get to run my hands down. My lungs are aching for that fresh air and my eyes for those new mountainsides. Here it comes now.

Photo Cred: Google Images