Dragonflies.

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

xoxo
Gussie

Troubles

I legit have written five blog posts tonight and not a single one I feel comfortable posting. Too much truth, it cuts way too deep, maybe when the wounds heal.

PC: Google

So I just clicked into pinterest (judge me if you will; pinterest rocks.) ready to search for an uplifting quote and this is what I saw. This is what I have been needing. Maybe you have too.

Stay true to you, be safe. 

XoXo

Gussie

Intensity

Last summer I got something drilled into me. Something that I had suppressed with all my power. I was riding with a reining horse trainer and he's well kind of a hard core guy. I spent hours in his arena, sweating my butt off and pushing myself to the point where when I got home I would puke after I got off.
INTENSITY.
He would say it as the clap of his hands echoed off the arena walls sounding like a whip. Intensity. Everything you do, do it with passion and intensity or it isn't convincing, that's how he explained it.
I was born with passion leaking out of my fingertips, my emotions always ran at ultimate highs and ultimate lows. And that got me in trouble. I was either too much or too little, so unbalanced, so unstable. I got sick of high hopes and let downs, big dreams and small realities. So I shut it off. I closed up, swallowed all of the pain, the heartache, the fear and the excitement. It worked unbelievably well.
I learned you have to allow yourself to feel to be hurt. Logically then if I never allowed myself the luxury of emotion then there would be no worries. It sounds like a joke, I know. I played people, always making sure I had the upper hand. No, I wasn't rude. I was just scrupulous about making sure that I never got the chance to be vulnerable, I'd had enough of that.
It bit came back with its fangs bared, bit me hard.
Because then there I was, being told that I needed some intensity and some passion. I had tucked all of that away in the corners and ends of my body, I'd made it scarce.
So I slid open the dusty drawers that I stored it in and I slowly reached out to grasp it. Electricity tickled my skin when I touched it. Life was pulsing back through my veins. It came about so oddly. My intensity was rekindled through the horses, through needing to be convincing. I needed to want something so badly that I was willing to fail to get it.
I get to thinking sometimes how much easier it was when I didn't care, when emotion didn't play into my actions - at least not near as much as they do now.  But it wasn't worth it. All of that trying not to be vulnerable made me worse off. Cutting off all of that emotion made me shallow, vague.
Suck it out of the safes you keep it tucked away in. Use it. It is power. Let your heart pound from it's cage. You were meant to rattle the walls and shake the earth, that's why your feet aren't anchors. Bleed out your emotion, let it tell your story. No holding back anymore.
INTENSITY.

PC: Google

xoxo,
Gussie

Losing sleep.

I'm trying to sleep. My eyes are closed. Tossing. Turning. Sick stomached. Arms folded. Legs crossed. Keep my self guarded now. Let no one in.

We stood there with icy raindrops slinking down the flipped up collars of our coats.

The rain was loud, the sun was drifting like it was ashamed of something.

We had to yell just to hear each other. 

There were sorrels and grays milling around an old, broken down corral.

They all had frozen chunks of mud clinging to the hump in their backs. 

I guess it wasn't romantic, not really, but the way he kissed me made it seem like it.

My cold fingers wrapped around his warm hand and he looked at me with sharp green eyes.

They used to be the only eyes that could cut through me. Used to be.

I had a bridle hanging over my shoulder, I could see the engraved copper hood out of the corner of my eye.

I curled my cold toes in my muddy boots trying to run some circulation back through them.

Pointless efforts.

I watched and wondered how so much spirit could be packed into one cowboy's body, I had the same curiosity about the horses he rode.

He put one foot in the stirrup, checked his hat down tight on the way up, collected the little horse and trotted out, looking over his shoulder, grinning. 

And I just stood there. In the rain, with icy teardrops running down the flipped up collar of my coat.

And I was only dreaming. Just dreaming. Go back to bed. It's too late to be up. How can I turn my mind off, how can I shut down the memories? I need to sleep. Goodnight.

XOXO Gussie

Nightmares//Fantasies

I wonder what all your dreams are at night. Do you have nightmares? Do you wake up sometimes in cold sheets wishing that the good ones were real? Tell me what you're scared of and all your aspirations. Whisper it all in the darkness. I wonder if you've ever been scared the way I have.
Do you handle failure well? Or does it haunt you? Is it the screeches you hear when the wind blows through the trees? Don't worry anymore, it's all faded now. We've all cried ourselves to sleep and whispered lingering wishes after the sun had fallen. I guess we handled it differently. Some just took to the bottle and let it wash through them like it might drown their fear. And some puked away the ugly thoughts, lived in pain.
Wake up darling the sun climbed the edge of the earth this morning and it smiled on your unique little face. You rolled over in your bed sheets and blinked your eyes, you licked your lips and drank your morning brew. Your lungs sucked in a deep, cold, fresh air breathe. You're alive. This isn't another cliche quote.
Whisper 'I love you' in the darkness tonight. Look at the stars. Let stupid romance slip you off your feet. Let your nightmares drive you to live your fantasies.

XoXo
Gussie

Chase it.

I've spent my life whispering.
Whispering to horses. To the trees. To God.
Constantly in search of something.
That mix between safety and freedom.
It's a fine line.
I've been far too fragile, I'm learning to close some doors.
I don't love certain things anymore.
All my toxins are being cut off, they can't mangle my mind anymore.
I'm stronger than I ever thought I could be. And it's building stronger even now.
Doubts still linger and taunt me but I have to remember where I've been.
Keep breathing. Keep whispering. Keep wishing on stars.
Keep faith.
Dangle your feet in creek beds and screw the critics.
Let your heart be what it is and let your soul search for what it yearns for.
Be a gypsy if that's what you want.
Be a lawyer. Be a hippie.
Be a nun. Be a therapist. Be whatever you want. Just do it.
Don't listen to what the jealous bastards say.
Let them hiss and cuss you out but let them do it outside your mind.
You are good enough. Don't be scared.
The feet you stand on everyday have carried you this far and you got this.
Your head is on straight and your heart is burning for something. Chase it.

XoXo Gussie

Home

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.

XOXO 

Gussie