Something to Say

 Well I guess I just don’t write anymore.

My hands are out of shape and getting cramped up.

I don’t bleed through my pen laying on a floor. 

I’d tell you that spreading my time too thin is what has made it tough. 

It wouldn’t be true. 

“Busy” is my usual answer when asked “What’ve you been up to?”

But busy isn’t why I don’t speak to you. 

I think I lost me, I can’t figure out where, but somewhere I lost who used to philosophy in inky blue.

Maybe deep down I think maturity equals silence.

I’ve felt that. 

But then does silence equal shame? 

‘Cause I’ve felt that. 

I rarely relive memories in my head.

The knots tied in my stomach over simple memories leave me something to untie and reheal for another precious long time.

I don’t know who I really was, but I liked her. 

I don’t think many approved of her, but she wasn’t all bad.

Perhaps that was the very essence of her, the lack of need for approval. 

Who I am now, I know less than ever. 

Floating fragments of each person I’ve been but they don’t all quite fit together. 

A little bit of pretty doesn’t get along with so much rough. 

You can’t be well spoken with as much as I cuss. 

And I know that, but hell. 

Or maybe it is well spoken, or rather well said.

I say it how I see it, and most of the time what I say is equally as harsh as the emotion it’s rasping down through me. 

Maybe now I speak so harshly because I never spoke for so long. 

This rant I feel should end somewhere here soon, before it quits making sense to you...

But maybe we’re past that now, oops.

I’m going to try to get me back.

The loud and outspoken, the brave and unashamed, the breathlessness of happiness, I’m going to find it again  

I hope you do too.

XoXo, Gussie 

 

A Cowboy

Tho the sage has all dried up, 

And there’s nothing left of the bitter brush.

The horses have winter’s hair on their hides,

And the only thing that hasn’t weakened is his mind.

Gone are his years spent out on the range,

Wearing dirt for his clothing and a smile thru his pains.

Broken bones fused wrong are the culprit of his walk.

Oh the stories you’ll hear son, if you can coax him to talk.

His best horse left him for heavenly plains,

And he has dreams at night of visions seen thru his mane.

His heart beats slower but the light in his eye shines bright.

I sure doubt if he’ll give up the fight.

He wears his scars with the same pride that they were claimed.

And his greatest honor is a ‘cowboy’ he is named. 

• Gussie

Off Course

I'm looking for words. Reaching for them, leaving claws marks but my fingers never seem to get a hold on them.
I can't speak my mind clearly to your face, my eyes will burn when I look into yours.
I learned to use a pen and paper to walk away from my fears.
Ink leaves more satisfaction that my spit in the air and I don't know why.
I guess I was born like that, hiding from confrontation.

There's paint in my chopped short hair and that whole scenario kind of makes me sick to my stomach. For so long I wanted hair braided to my belt.
Maybe that goes to show that wanting something too much never works out anyway.

The word "than" just looked weird to me. Now we're getting off course.
But not really, I've never seemed to have one.

I want another tattoo.
They're so scoffed at and misunderstood.
But if words are what means the most to you then they would surely have meaning on skin.

There's a knot in my stomach that kind of stays hemmed up there.
Uncertain and leery, like maybe I've never really known what I wanted .
It changes everyday.
I had a thousand dreams of who I could become and I look in the mirror and don't see a single one.
That burns hot on my face.

I've come to wonder if people don't like my worst writing best because it's so bloody honest.
Because it's painful and pure and maybe they've stared in the mirror and thought the same gut wrenching things but just couldn't put words to it.
Or maybe they did but they were wiser than I to put it on a blog page for the world to see.
For the world to giggle at my childish insecurity.

I'm not really that broken.
I'm not unhappy.
I love the beautiful place I live in.
And I love the trees it hides me in.
This post really means nothing at all.
It's simply one wave of my emotions.

XoXo, Gussie

Perspective

I’m finding my perspective, where I really belong. 

Learning that my voice bears reason and has a weight if it’s own. 

My heart is still on a walk-about, looking for it’s purpose. 

Deep down I think I already know, but there’s still a wondering. 

A shot of whisky to warm my insides trailed by a solo cup of wine. 

Funny how certain things become their own quiet little tradition only just for you. 

Like this same cheap shit I drink on long cowboy days. 

How a certain song sings to you the same memory every time. 
And how the wind can blow eerie and unsettling sharing your same emotions.

Someday it’ll all come together like one big puzzle. 

Pieced up with graceful, smooth pieces and jagged, painful ones too. 

I’ve been clawing at the darkness tainting the backs of my eyelids, hoping to fill the emptiness with light. 

Holding onto and unable to let go of the pit in my stomach that changes by the minute from pain to hate to self pity. 

Part of process I guess.

You’d think healing would be pretty, a fully positive state, where everything gets “better”.

But it’s not; it’s mostly ugly, a heart fighting a sincere battle with darkness, striving to win. 

I’m not sure I’ve quite put my thumb on what I actually want to feel, but I will. 

I’ll find it out of somewhere, or nowhere. 

In the trees, a blue sky, my horse’s eye. 

I’ll search in God’s creation for the rest of what He created for me. 

XoXo, Gussie

*CSI Saddle Pads

*Mike Keetch Saddle

Mess of Words

I wish I actually wrote as much as I read... on facebook.
I wish I could harness what I was truly thinking into words, but I can't.
They taste a little less harsh, a little more sincere and a lot less painful in ink.
I wish I still felt in touch with something that lives in the air,
the words that I used to pluck out of nowhere.
But I'm not, or won't.
I wish I still sat quiet sometimes to listen to the sound of outside.
Nursing a whisky drink with too much to think.
I wish I'd quit wishing.
So I guess I'll get off my ass,
Tell you this story from the top of a tin roof,
watching the morning frost burn off.
I suppose I'll begin with the half-assed excuse for why I haven't wrote.
I've been busy.

The truth of that is I have in fact been busy.
A pile of things have been whirling through my head.
They've all been trumped by one main goal and passion.
The season came and went, I learned a lot.
In a way I was excited for it to be over, to breathe.
And then likely, to start anticipating what challenges the next horse would bring in a year.
I'm excited.

So I haven't wrote.
But there's been something gnawing at the back of my mind.
Why on earth is it so much easier to watch TV than read a book, or cook a meal, or paint a room.
Imagine how productive we could be if we spent as much time creating as we do mind-numbingly staring at the screen in our hand.
This is long and awkward and feels like I've really lost my touch with words.
I feel like when you go hungry for so long and then the meal doesn't even have a chance to taste for being frantically eaten.
That's what these words feel like, which is ok I guess.

This is where I wrap it up I suppose with something witty.
I don't have much.

Build something with your hands.
Make something you can do something with, make something tangible and satisfying.
Love the life that's right in front of you.

Excuse this mess of words, I'm mostly just letting off some steam.

XoXo, Gussie

Photo Credit; Rocking Horse Photography

Shell

I ought to quit guessing, I guess.
Find a truer side of me,
one that doesn't change a favorite color every minute from pink to green.
It's hard though, for me,
to decide between being a cowboy or just a girl in skinny jeans.
I used to be so strong in things to say,
but I've had a bitten tongue as of late.
I suppose my thoughts have no taste.
I have too many things calling my name,
every other distraction coming my way.
It would be smart to cull the bad ones,
but they've become a vice I just can't seem to let fade.
Drank too much and still didn't say enough.
I used to think that maybe somewhere deep inside I was tough.
Maybe I am but the hole's too dark for me to find a bottom.
Guess we'll never know.
There I go guessing again.
I suppose you must not mind if you're still reading here towards the end.
Bless your heart.
I don't have much left now,
truth is I've been hunting inside myself for the words.
Something that didn't used to be so hard to find.
I think I'm afraid..
No, I know I'm afraid.
And worse yet, I'm not fighting it.
I'd rather lay down and take it.
That scares me too, that's not the grit I used to have.
But where did it go?
I'm sure I could find somebody to blame.
Call them something that all but used the word 'hate' in their name.
Not much good it's done,
besides make me cuss and cry and broke my fun.
I'm mad I can't shake it.
Ashamed at how little my wrecking ball was.
I guess I didn't quite fall.
Not with someone holding me up, drowning in my heaviness,
taking the kick of my gun.
I'll find it again,
the fearless streak inside me.
And I'll have grown a harder shell to defend myself in.
This isn't just my story, it's a shred of yours too.
So tack your name on it as a promise to yourself,
to kill whatever is ailing you and get back to your truer self.

Xoxo, Gussie

Entry One

Entry One

It's 43 degrees outside right now, which is strangely pleasant, beautiful really.

I'm missing summertime, early mornings, deep blue skies.

And tank tops.

I've been drowned in horses and everything that comes with them for the last few years.

The new year has given me a chance to gulp some air and try to regain vision.

I had no idea it would be this refreshing.

For so long all I could write about was horses, and when that's all my life involved I didn't have anything to say.

I guess I've just been thinking and forgot to leave any scribbles.

Actually, to be truthful, I had nothing good to say.

I forgot that I love them.

I fall asleep at night thinking about horses, dwelling on them, daydreaming about them.

A simple bad day just about breaks my heart sometimes.

I guess they scare me because I feel they might be the sole reason of my existence, or at least vital part of it.

That probably sounds silly but somewhere inside me I believe that.

I told myself a handful of times that I couldn't do it anymore, it was more than I could handle and some things really were.

So I eased off for a minute.

I came to realize that I didn't hate the horses or the hours or being tired or sore.

What was making me miserable were the voices.

The negative ones both in my head and out, I'm going to be more careful who I keep around. 

I thought about 19 year old me yesterday, she didn't know where to even start with a colt.

She hadn't yet peeked her head through a window to see the world she was about to jump into with both feet.

Which goes to show she was braver than she thought she was.

I don't know if I would have guts for that now.

I'm in awe of how much of a mind game training horses is...and how crucial your health can be.

The world belongs to the strong they say. That means mentally too.

My goals are inked out on brown paper next to a prayer journal and a cup of coffee.

Three very important things to me. 

If in three years I can change, for better and for worse, grow and dream bigger now than I ever thought I was capable, I suppose the next three years ought to be one hell of an adventure too. 

None of this really points in any direction, it just seems that I've sort of used this page as a journal in the past, so here goes Entry One of 2019. 

Dream really big. Like bigger than you think you ought to.

Smile hard, the kind the aches in your cheeks.

Drink a good whisky drink, a hot cup of coffee and whatever else healthy B12 shit you got to, and get shit done. 

XOXO, 

your forever discombobulated, Gussie