Thursday, August 20, 2015

Recurring Dreams

Blood. Pain. Fear. Cold limbs. Indecisive. Anxiety.
That's my writing lately, I'm sure you've noticed.
Wind. Breezes. Lingering dreams. Old memories. Thought process.
That's what is spilled onto these virtual pages.
I've written so much to you with never the guts to post it.
Or I've typed up lengths of words and then second guessed whether you would even want to hear it.
So today I'll just leave you with an old dream of mine.
I've had this dream for years. It revisits me sometimes, it's one I can't forget. Creeping back like slinking shadows in my sleepy mind.

There's these cumulonimbus clouds scattered above me and tall green grass is swaying. I am in the middle of nowhere, up high on some mountain. My horse is cropping at the grass, his lips squeaking, my silver bit around the horn and hobbles on his legs. He's all quiet eyed and pretty. I'm laying on my back with my feet not far from my horse's, arms behind my head. My eyes close on a map of blue and white skies. Peace in my heart. I'm just calm and everything is okay. No worries. And thank God- for once no fears. The world seems so distant. My mind runs away to horses the way it always has.

Take me there.

PC: Cindy Keetch

"If you are not willing to learn, no one can help you. If you are determined to learn, no one can stop you."

Xoxo, Gussie

Tuesday, August 11, 2015


It's the blood I've left in roping gloves and in the practice pen.
The days spent in damp, cold hoodies and jeans.
The sweat.
Ball caps strewn from hell to breakfast in the truck.
It's that knot in my gut that coils up as I step on a fresh horse.
It's the way I get nervous and can't eat before a show.
The way I shake.
My heart throbbing in awkward, solid beats.
All of it plays into the poetry I write in dark rooms lit by the moon.
It's nasty blisters on my hands.
They profess themselves to the world exposing my lack of femininity.
It's the tan lines left from riding in the hottest hours of sun.
The headaches and tortured bones.
Dizzy, sick nights from going too hard all day.
It's the dehydration.
Hips forever out of whack.
Sunburned lips.
It's open wounds and flesh that shouldn't be so swollen and exposed.
Dark, pain-filled hearts in need of something.
It's the way my horses work so good when I'm sick or tired or broken.
How they get all soft and sensitive when I cry.
The way they feel me or the way I feel them, I don't know.
It's the way I learned to trust eleven hundred pound animals that could easily end me.
My muscles tensing up and cramping while I try to sleep.
Being sore for days.
Never owning a pair of pants that doesn't smell like horses.
It's dirt everywhere I go.
Arena sand in my boots and on my eyelashes.
It's hat hair and sweat on my nose.
Sun freckled skin, pixie dust on my cheeks.
It's sick stomach days but ride anyway.
It's doing youtube yoga at night trying to make a tender back feel better.
Hitting my bed with eyes already slamming shut.
Overused shoulders.
Getting knit-picked by different trainers.
Being told that I'm only being pushed this hard because I can actually do it.
Letting every ounce of emotion out.
Willing to fail.
Getting hurt just to feel better.
Bruises that I don't remember earning.
Knees hurting.

And I call it all... therapy.
My body worn. My mind won.

PC: Cindy Keetch


Monday, August 10, 2015


I just want to cry but I'm afraid I've run out of tears so I'll just breathe heavy breathes pretending that gets something off my chest. Listen for it, you'll hear it if you're quiet. The wind moans soft mumblings. Calling me farther away. My mind is always distant now, I try so hard to make it stay. But it's fading, always fading. Running off to dreams and old memories. Come with me, you'll see what I mean. I want that day back, hot and windy as it was, I want that dust in my face. I want your hand on my back. We were so tired, still smiling. Or that emotion I would give worlds to feel that way again. But I'm here and I'm now and I can't be that anymore. My hands are cold, my face is hot, I'm tired. If things were different I would be there, right there. I would beg you to take me somewhere quiet. Somewhere that I could see forever from and hear the breeze whistling through the trees. We could talk about our fears, mine are changing so much. Yesterday I woke up tired and tied up in hot sheets, the morning was quiet but my mind wasn't. Tell me what to think. I guess it's up to me. Maybe I'll wait for a full moon and go sit on some mountainside, watch a sunset fall. Find peace and solace, find something good for my soul. My sissy used to go on drives alone and I never understood. She'd jump in her truck and drive. I've never liked being lonely. I don't handle it well but I think I finally get it now, why she'd just drive. The steering wheel keeps the hands busy and the road moans quiet like background noise to disoriented, cluttered thoughts. I told you my mind was fading, always fading away to other things. So I'm just gonna drink another cup of peppermint tea and maybe tomorrow I'll know what the hell to think.

Xoxo Gussie

Monday, August 3, 2015

Beautiful Truths

      Tell me beautiful lies.
      That's what this is anyway.
      It's just a play on words, keep talking now.
      Let me close my eyes and dream.
      I'll picture it like a staged broadway scene.

There were chills on your skin and a light in your dark eyes.
      I guess it's my story now.
I whispered because I was afraid if I talked too loud I'd choke my own words out.
You were so collected and calm.
My hands were steady, my voice not so much.
You only whispered 'cause I did.
We kept looking over our shoulders and up on the ridge.
There were coyotes howling a homely call.
I was scared.
Like the inside kind. You know, the real kind.
Not the 'I don't want to get hurt' or 'I got out by the skin of my teeth' scared.
I'm talking straight up terrifying.
Where your stomach is flipped and your heart is beating all fast and awkward but slow.
When your hands are cold and clammy, they shake then get still.
Your eyes dart from place to place while everything is a slow motion movie.
Red cheeks, cold feet.
Watery eyes.
Dry lips, cotton mouth, loss for words.
My heart is in this one, it's not so easy now, I can't walk away the same no matter what.
You know what kind of scared I'm talking about.
I said it quietly hoping you would but knowing you wouldn't hear.
A little louder this time, listen close.
It's okay, I'll walk the tight rope line.
I might get hurt but it's not the same every time.
Maybe it's different this time around.
I don't like the chances, too risky with the way my heart is pounding.
So tell me beautiful lies.
That's what I want to hear anyway.
Twist them up and form them all poetic like, release them from where they've been burning you.
Let me close my eyes and dream.

Randoms tonight.
Have you ever been caught between your head and your heart? Where you know better but your gut keeps clawing at you, begging you to say what you feel? Isn't it petrifying? I find myself there so often. I find myself writing out pros and cons and making charts because that's just how close the odds are. I whisper to the darkness. All that black is comforting sometimes. I wonder what the stars think of all my madness. I've poured myself out and given God an earful. In the truest sense, I've given it UP.  UP - literally. I've pitched the mess and let God do the untangling, cause I know he'll do it right.
"When my heart is faint lead me to the rock that is higher than I." Psalm 61:2

"I loved you at your darkest." Romans 5:8


Those are beautiful truths.

PC: Gussie Keetch


Sunday, August 2, 2015


I promised you a while ago that I'd try to remember to write about the butterflies and smiles.
I'm afraid I haven't done too well.
So I'll tell you how it goes.

It goes something like cold air mornings, shorts and hot coffee. Grinning.
It's dewy grass between my silver ringed fingers.
It's horse sweat steaming off their backs after a good work.
Chills running down my spine and my arms.
Bruised hands holding rawhide braided reins.
Aspens whispering from the mountain side telling me their sorrows and triumphs.
It's crumbling clots of dirt in my palms.
Sagebrush in my stirrup.
It's Dr. Pepper kisses and 'I really missed you' hugs.
A sunrise is climbing the morning's blue sky.
My hair is tied in wild wind knots.
It's daisies in my braid just like the gypsies do.
I keep looking up hoping to see a shooting star.
It's you singing old love songs and me smiling in the passenger seat.
It's squinted eyes and colorful aviators.
Late night phone calls and whispering about old stories.
It's your roping face.
Your focus and our sunburned hands.
It's falling into bed at night with muscles weak and eyes tired.

Butterflies and smiles darlings.

But I mostly see dragonflies because the butterflies hide in my stomach.
The smiles, they're on our windburned faces.

PC: Kimberly Richardson