Wednesday, February 17, 2016

The Very Best Kind

I've wrote a lot about pain. The words I spilled in black and blue ink like bruises on paper are my way of coping, my way of bleeding out the emotion that would otherwise eat me alive. I told you about that once in an older blog post. I guess somehow I hope it will make me real. 
But I want to remember the good things. I want you to hear the good things, the too cool memories that revisit me in dreams.
I remember the colts, they were cranky and it was a cold winter. The barn was always this musty, dirt-loomed air of a place, so dark. I learned so much. The tack room was old and crowded with gear accented by one broken, wooden chair to the left of the door.
There was this night with a full moon lighting up the desert and a purple sky. Calves were bawling and the horse beneath me was solid and young. We doctored calves under the stars. It's such a simple thing but it was perfect.
I love the exhausted, accomplished feeling at the end of the day. I loved last summer. I spent too much time going too hard out in the sun. The headaches and soreness were more than worth it. I woke up with my body stiff and I dreamed about lead changes and big stops.
Wet saddles blankets make me feel good. I love the smell of horse sweat. I buried my face in yellow mane before I went to bed.
I remember hair in my face and the wind blowing like crazy and it should have been somewhat miserable but I loved it. My hand was warm and all that was left of my poly rope was a greased snake. My arm hurt and I loved it.
I've stood so many times with coffee in my hand looking out the window at horses standing cock-hipped and dozing off. It thrills me in a quiet way.
I like trotting out into a chilly summer morning on broke horses with my sister by my side. I remember just giggling and cracking jokes cause that's what you do when you're at home. And we were at home. Out there in the sagebrush with our sunburned hands, bouncing braids and broke horses; that's become our home.
I hope you have some hella good memories. There's always more to them than you can say, a feeling that follows those thoughts around, cherish that. Those are the very best kind.


Monday, February 8, 2016

You've Got Rights

You've got rights to being a bad bitch.
You've earned those scars and the reputation you have, whether they be good or bad.
You gave up some hard earned salt water on those cheeks of yours and you let that red drip to the ground out of your veins.
You taught yourself to fly on wings with broken feathers.
And you did it with gumption.
You're tough.
Trust me.
I don't make a habit of telling lies.
I've been told far too many to do that to someone else.
So really trust me on this one.
There's a lot to learn when you get beat up.
And when you get hurt, deceived, lied to.
There's a lot to learn about trusting.
And you will trust the wrong person once or thirteen times.
But you're learning how to fight.
You're better than the liars who gave you those gnarly beauty marks you wear.
You're far better than the cowards who had the guts to cross you.
You've got the right to get bloody pissed.
There's gonna be some pretty smiles and they'll screw you over but you're better than that too.
Hold your head up and if it comes down to it, fight dirty.
You've got the right to be a bad bitch.

Xoxo, Gussie