Thursday, November 26, 2015

Use It.

I guess normally I'd tell you to be you and I'd say it in some profound way.
But here is the thing. It's okay to have people you wanna be like.
To have little things that you copy. Some pieces to keep for yourself.
Because at the end of the day you can only hold so much in your fists.
It's a small limit that fills fast and if you drink up too much of others, all of you will start to flow out.
We can only be so much and closure doesn't always comes. 
We crave it, but closure is a liar's poem, always looked for but never read out loud.
You have to lick your own wounds and sew them up with your own needle and thread.
And it's painful, I know.
We don't always get back some of the good we give out.
And every now and then we'll pour all of our love into someone who doesn't deserve it.
I guess sometimes we just have to peel ourselves off the dirt and give ourselves some credit.
You're not ruined. No matter how convinced you might be that you are, you're not.
You are what you touch, the emotions you feel, the sights you see. You are the warm blood in your veins and the words out of your mouth. You are every little nerve that makes up your body. You're as beautiful as any sunset that kissed the sky. You're the pain you feel, the love you give. You are your own miracle. 
Use it.

XoXo, Gussie

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

The way we used to be.

I can feel it hitting me. This time of year always creeps up with old memories on its coattail. The leaves and cold, the frost on the windshield, they have stories.
Like an old denim jacket, my collar cuffed up and the radio cranked.
We had our heads thrown back laughing like nothing could ever bring us down.
You were telling me tall tales with the brightest light in your eyes.
Cause we were close but our hearts were closer.
We had roping gloves falling out of the jockey box and coffee cups all over the truck.
It was late night drives out by the lake.
Our cold hands would throw a saddle over a hump-backed colt and we would smile over at each other with grins that damn near said 'it's about to go down.'
The sunsets glared at us sitting on tailgates watching them sink.
We were crying laughing at our own stupid jokes, throwing dirt clods across the barn.
Jumping train tracks in old trucks like we were cool or something.
We were holding each others hands telling ourselves it would be okay.
Deep down we knew it'd all work out someday, we had so much faith.
I can see us when I close my eyes.
Standing in parking lots with roper shoes on our feet and wild rags around our necks and we were grinning bitching about the cold.
You were so loud and it made me loud and we had the windows down in freezing cold weather.
Our cheeks stayed rosy red and our lips were as icy as our fingertips.
I remember the way your face would get dark when you were mad and how you sull up.
I always wanted to laugh cause you would come around so fast.
Your hair was messy under your hat and you were the fearless that I tried to be.
I wanna feel the way we felt; on fire.
I wanna be cold and stiff in the morning the way we used to be.

      Xoxo, Gussie

Friday, November 13, 2015

Fell in love.

I fell in love with the pain and the changing. I loved the high strung spirit. It called to mine, birds of a feather you know. I guess that's why I always kind of knew in the back of my mind that you couldn't stay. I fell in love with cold fingers intertwined. I fell in love with the thought, it all looked so good on paper. I liked the way the sunrise looked in the reflection of your eyes. I loved the feel of colts beneath me and how sweat stained our hats. I fell in love with late nights and long phone calls. But I only fell in love with the idea of it all. I've wiped tears with tail bags left on truck seats and it's the nights that kill me. But I like the way this old hat sits on my head and I feel at home on that same old horse. He nickers low and I can feel it breaking straight through to my soul. I love the way the wind tangles in my hair and how my cheeks turn red in the cold. I like deep breathes in my lungs. And I'm moving on I guess. I'm cold and shivering and nervous, but that's how life goes. There's more out there than you think, more than you could probably dream. But it'll only come if you believe and that's the hardest damned thing. Your shaking hands aren't broken, your tears aren't worthless. You're alright. And if I'm being straight with you, this is more for me. Like some written proof that the world keeps turning even when things aren't how you want it to be. It'll all come around and you get what you put out in the world. I hope you wake up to a cold morning and have a steaming cup of coffee.
Feel it. Feel it all. Suck it in. Let it seep into your skin, your soul, your heart.

Goodnight now.

XoXo, Gussie

Sunday, November 1, 2015

Words for ya.

I burned out on George Strait at 18 years old, got hooked on Red Dirt music a couple years ago. I like the outside kind of scars, the ones that are an off color from my skin. The inside kind aren't as pretty. They don't heal as good either, or fast. My hair is growing slow, but one day it'll be braided clear down my back. I have green eyes whose tear ducts need to open less often. I'm always cold in the winter and burnin up in the summer. Real world struggles yo. I probably cuss too much. I decided that it's a rough world out there and sometimes rough things need to be said. My heart is stitched to the fabric down my arm. I really need to cut those threads and bury it deep in my chest. But I've never been good at holding back I guess. I wonder if you know what I mean sometimes in these ramblings, I wonder if you feel the same vibes. And don't you roll your eyes at me, cause all of the vibrant souls have a little inner hippy, so here's some good energy for ya. There's a lot of pain out there and I keep telling you how tough you are but just cause you're tough doesn't mean you won't hurt. Blisters before calluses remember? And blood before scabs. I'm either too blunt or too vague. My mind is always scrambling, stuck somewhere between spilling my every thought out or choking up and keeping it all in. Trust me, either one is an ordeal. I have a temper that I hope you never experience and when I'm hurting I shut off. There was a time when all I wanted was just to keep up with the boys, now I want to beat 'em with a fence post on occasion but for some reason still love most of them. I have a little white scar below my left eye and one on my lip. I didn't pick up a rope till I was 13 years old, hated roping until I was about 17. I like the feel of creeks on my fingers and moccasins on my feet. I've seen a lot of ugly things. But nobody saw them through my eyes and that's something to cling to. Because there's times when you won't be anything extraordinary, you'll feel far below it. But nobody will ever be able to mimic your vision and that is a little gift from God. I burned out on Nickelback at 17 years old, got hooked on The Outfield about 10 months ago. So there's all that out there, raw and bloody.

Xoxo, Gussie