Now & Why Horses Rock

After yesterday’s blog, I was thinking about writing and how it felt like I just wanted to bite the world and chew it and swallow it like really good bread with a crisp out the outside and soft sweetness on the inside. I think maybe my last blog was a lot more satisfying for me to write than anyone to read but I’m not ashamed of it and I’m not going to downplay it. Let me narrate your dreams. And then think about femininity and meaning and subjectivity and make your brain dance new steps.

Here’s a description of now.

Mike is carrying his laundry down the road. I’m playing Acoustic Soul out my window. Collage wood and wildflowers and gold-tipped grasses and a ponies playing and trucks and mountains and clouds. Layer them in a thick portrait of fresh air and sweet pine smells and cut out a shape of home.

My phone buzzes and I know looked at it far too much today. It interrupts me but I forgive it because on the other end are the only ones who will read this anyways. You were here.

Why Horses Rock:

When I was in 3th grade:

Horses rock because they chose to leave their pretty fields to play with me! And they take care of me when I ride them and would never do anything to hurt me. Horses work really hard even when you didn’t even ask them to. Horses are so pretty with manes that are long like brown grass and shining hoofs that look like they have nail polish. I love horses because horses love me.

When I was in 9th grade:

Horses rock because they teach you about disappointment. They make you fall and then you get to get on them again. They take you to beautiful places and let your hair fly and you get to smile at sunsets all alone and breathing. Horses give you time in the woods with your mom to talk about things you wouldn’t have otherwise. Horses are who you can talk to when boys don’t like you and probably never will.


Horses rock because they taught me to take the blame. Because they broke my heart. They taught me to stop trusting and personifying. They taught me to stop needing best friends and started appreciating patient athletes. I learned that they never trotted to me for me, but for the grain or the itch or the fun of it. They taught me that the “flight” instinct can shape great things. They taught me to run them fast because then they might forget that they are being dominated. They earned my respect. They bought into a delusion that allowed them to survive.

Horses rock because they made me look for a poetry that isn’t in Hollywood. They rock because they are strength and power and versatility and finesse. They rock because we can be selfish together. Because when their eyes twinkle, I can stop looking for humanity and start seeing them as independent creations that aren’t me but have resigned themselves to running by my side.


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