Sunday, December 31, 2017


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 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


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


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 

Sunday, April 2, 2017

Wandering, I mean, Wondering

Sunshine and freckles and a warped idea of love.
So full of flaws that I've come to wear them like precious jewels around my neck.
Come here, my darling, I'll give you a hug and some hope.
There was a time when all I ever wanted to be was what I am right now.
And now I just want to be more.
Someday I'll have everything I want and I'll just miss a day like today.
Warm and springy with a hint of a breeze.
Burned hands and a cold shoulder.
Sometimes don't you wonder what God sees.
Like if He's got us all dangling from His angels fingers on puppet strings.
He writes our lives like poems awfully well, with the way one meshes right in with the next.
I guess He thinks witch knots in horse manes is pretty cause they sure twist and weave.
He's got one heart broke and another the same, just waiting to throw them in the pot together.
A plan here and one there and He dances through it all like these cares are light as a feather.
He watches each tear fall and feels each one like a knife in His chest.
But I guess you've probably pondered all that by now.
Laid out beneath the stars just wondering how the world goes round.
I have a tendency to fear the fall so deeply that I never even spread my wings.
There's old memories that haunt the dark sides of my eyelids and I'll probably never shake them.
I stared at my own hell.
And at some point, you will too.
But that's okay, builds character and strength so they say.
Now I'm just rambling once again but you're tough, I'm sure of it.
You can fail and you can fall.
But you'll stand and you'll wipe your eyes, you'll do just fine.
You've got two feet beneath you that have you propped up for some divine reason.
I hope you can find it in your heart to see that.
So I'll leave you with something short but oh so dear;

"Wait for the Lord;
be strong and take heart
And wait for the Lord."
Psalm 27:14

XoXo, Gussie

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

Just One More Speech, Humor Me

I haven't wrote to you in blood for a while. I can't say whether or not you've missed me. But I hope maybe you have just a little.
So I'll cut straight to the point, save you the boring introduction to my speech. Ah yes, another speech about pain. Now I've said it before but I'll remind you again; I punch these little letters in and they string a sentence along for me. Maybe for you too in a roundabout way, but I write to remind my dear naive self, not to preach.
Some cuts never heal. They just don't. Oh they scar up and grow over with proud flesh but they're still there. They're not so jagged or raw and when you bump them it doesn't sting so bad anymore.
Some folks don't get cut so gnarly and they heal quicker. So this is really only for the wretched souls like me that feel everything twice and way too deep.
Yeah sure I knew better a lot of times but it doesn't change what happened or who I was. And I guess if I could change it I never would.
Lies don't ever become the truth and honesty is a rare and treasured thing. In the end you'll only have your story so choose wisely the characters that will get to hold a pen. Remember that some of the greatest stories were written in sloppy handwriting with water marks on the page.
Life is just life. There's ups and there's downs. Your finest moments will be weaved into the same rug as your worst.
You're going to have panic attacks and temper tantrums, sleepless nights and restless days. You're going to be hard up and let go. You'll be bogged down and rained out.
But there's something beautiful in pain. You know, the earth shattering, mind numbing kind. Where you find that your breaking point is really no breaking point at all. It's simply a line that you drew in the dirt, one that meant 'I'll be tough'. And you'll blow through it. Not just subtly step across either, no, you'll leave that line a couple hundred miles behind with a little hurricane in your wake.
You'll still be sucking wind, even if it is out of a crumpled, brown paper sack. You'll keep seeing, even if it is foggy and bleary eyed. You'll forever be tougher than the blue on your skin and the crimson drops dripping from your palm. Tougher than the goodbye and tougher than the betrayal yet to come.
I guess I'm just here saying that it ain't easy. And I understand if you're scared. Lord knows I'm scared. But you're gonna make it. You're gonna be okay. You're not a lost cause and you're gonna make it.

XoXo, Gussie