high horses

Between the years of ~11-14 I went to a summer horse camp. Once I went alone, once with my sister, and once with my childhood friend who was oddly rugged like an awkward girl at that age could be. 

It was in a little rural area of Minnesota, I think it was North (which I guess is everything, if you really think about it), and I remember instantly loving it. I loved that you got your very own horse for the week, and that you lived in dinky cabins, and that your counselors didn't have cutesy nicknames.  I even loved waking up at 6am to brush and saddle your horse, to ride all day, and think, while riding (god, how i day-dreamed!) and have the best night's sleep imaginable and do the same thing the next day. I liked that it was dirty and demanding. 

What I'm trying to say is that I think horses are my gay spirit animal and if you insult one you're insulting me. here is a poem about horses.   

 ``

Today you told me

to get off my high horse

As if you were trampled

underneath my horseshoes

As if you were a piece of gum

Underneath my tennis shoes

As if you were permanently

Beneath me

Like I stepped on you without even thinking about it

Today when you called me immature

I wanted to remind you

That I had yet to raise my voice

Or call you names

I had not belittled you to a moniker

Or a self-sustaining joke

Remember that night
when we got approached on the street
I pushed that stranger off you in a second
He was bigger and stronger than I was
but I didn't flinch 
I had kept my cool 

Had I already saddled up for you, then? 

-->

I had not mentioned the tackiness of your wedding

How cliché it was to be married at Pride

Of all places,

When six weeks earlier we had made plans

When six weeks earlier we had shared a bed

I don’t think you realize how many people

Walked up to me the next day, the next week,

With bewilderment

And I really tried not to be cruel

Because I had already moved on, upgraded

I said something like ‘good for her’

 

Was I on my horse then?