Color-Blind (Poetry)

Late nights are the best nights to sort out my membrane,
Thoughts running through my head like a midnight train.
Thanks to the media circus and everyone’s opinions.
Of what’s right and what’s wrong.
See, I grew up being color blind,
So I don’t understand these racist remarks.
I never understood the difference between the shades of skin.
Black, copper, or white. 
See, I grew up in a melting pot of cousins, from different generations.
I’m trying to explain this while sitting in a coffee shop,
Contemplating these rhymes, as I jam out to my second cousin,
A biracial artist that exposes conflicts that are unfurled, personal or interracial.
He’s finding himself in the Hip-Hop world,
Damn right, I’m proud of my own blood,
Addressing the audience his visions, his dreams, his lyrical flood,
A creative outlet to get rid of the inner mud. 
Welcome to my world, my color-blind world.
Multitasking, welcome to my revolting mind.
I go back to my diverse family and now thinking of my first cousin,  
She never goes short on her Native American pride.
I even have my own personal aboriginal beliefs and spirit deep within my vibes,
Bona fide. 
An ex of mine was part of the Northern Cheyenne tribe,
I was adopted by the teachings and life.
Went by the name of “Too Tall” due to my height.
Bottom line, no matter what color is our exteriors,
We still all bleed red within ourselves.
We all shed the same tears,
Our genetics go beyond thousands of years,
Find the truth in these words, instead of fears.
I’m a black sheep, I was never made to tell you what you want to hear.
And I won’t apologize for the topics you need to hear.
We aren’t just connected through our families, but also our peers.
Don’t be afraid to change the teachings of your scholars.
Find your x-ray super powers and surpass the skin color. 
Welcome to my world, my color-blind world.
©H.M. Gautsch

Harlot (Poetry)


Work over play.
Work over romance.
That’s my life, it’s my only chance.
I guess I am a harlot in the game of love.
No sex needed, just my wicked tongue is enough.
All it takes is one or two dates,
And they keep coming like it’s a cattle call.
Someday I’ll get it all right.
Until then, my heart remains uptight.
I fear of being to mummified with my PTSD,
I can’t even say, “I love you” to the ones that are close to me.
I guess I successfully raised my heart from my sleeve.
It’ll take more than a week to let it proceed.
I guess it’s just meant to be, so let me be.
It is what it is I guess,
But I’d rather speak the truth than sugar coat the shit.
I got to follow my heart, the chemistry.
I’d rather be a best friend, not a queen.
Strong minded as I reveal a flaw,
I’d rather work for my own grind,
And not just be handed over gift and trips.
It’s my dreams and my opportunities I need to find,
Even if it’s on my own.
I need a companionship, not a money bind.
I’m taking the high road,
Even though people like to take my name into dirt.
Characters reveal themselves,
And you’re revealing you’re just another toad.
I know what I want,
It’s not someone with a beast mode.
Unless you’re Clay Matthews in the running show.
Maybe you should go check yourself,
You sound a bit bi-polar.
If this poem is too high of a standard,
So be it, find someone else to pander.  
 2015 ©H.M. Gautsch

Composure (Poetry)


“How do you say goodbye, to the shit that’s not healthy for you?
Turn off the light, shut the door, and walk away in silent.
I still struggle with it.
Do you swallow that pride and weed out the demons in disguise,
Amongst the rest of the people in your life,
Even if your back is against the ropes and your hands are tied.
Take that bravery and let out the pain,
Tell your story to draw the picture on that paper,
For the next generation’s sake.
You can only be wrong for so long.
Adjust that fist, be ready to punch.
Because at the end of the day you can only take so much.
People be making me feel like I need to go live in my own world,
Off of a mountain or something.
Starting to get tired of society as a whole for their ignorance,
Hatred, and non-educational judgments.
There’s so many can of worms I could expose,
But I don’t.
I guess it’s a part of me growing and maturing.
It’s not how I want my fifteen minutes of fame,
It’s not how I want my character to impose.
The potential low blows for those
That slows my hope for our humanity…
Nah…
Even though I have my days of feeling like a ticking time bomb,
It’s not how I want my reputation to compose.”
2015©H.M. Gautsch

Psychological Demons Teaser #3

Here is teaser #3 for my story, Psychological Demons. I am introducing the relationship between Eve and her mother, Cynthia, as Eve visits her mom for the first time since she left for the military. Not all is what it seems on the surface. 

Cynthia Torseman only had a couple skills for work, waitressing and bartending, while raising Eve after the divorce with Joe. The divorce resulted in a hardship for Cynthia, as she was used to being a stay-at-home mom, now had to manage herself when Joe moved out. Cynthia and Joe only lived a couple blocks away from one another for Eve’s benefits and relationships with both parents, but that didn’t change the fact that Eve wasn’t raised on a silver-platter. She developed an appreciation of her mother, as Cynthia worked more than 40 hours a week to make ends meet. There was no need for court dates between the parents, which was rare for a broken home in the United States.

As she came to age, Eve enlisted in the military to assist her mother with her bills. Eve would send an anonymous envelope with money, while she was away for training or missions, no matter where she was in the world. As Eve returned home for the first time in two years, Cynthia would discover a change.
Cynthia walks to her mailbox to get her mail. She opens it and grabs the stack in the box. Cynthia skims through the mail and notice an envelope is missing from the stack. She looks down the street on her right and then left as she pats the stack of mail on her chest. Her facial expression expressed a concern. Did the mailman drop the envelope? Did the envelope get lost on its way home? Cynthia slowly bit her lip out of nervousness and double-checked the stack again to make sure she didn’t misplace the envelope herself. The middle-aged lady takes another look around the area and turns around to walk back into her house.
            Two blocks away from both her mother and father’s houses, Eve was waiting in a taxi cab parked. Inside the taxi, the driver looks through his rear view mirror to his passenger who is smirking and flipping the envelope over and over in her hands.
“Ma’am, I know it’s none of my business, but isn’t it illegal to be digging and stealing other people’s mail?”
The taxi-driver expressed his concerns towards Eve. In response, Eve smiles and continues the conversation with the driver.
            “Not if you are the person who sent it.”
            Eve flips the front of the envelope with the addresses facing the driver and leans forward. She grabs her bills out of her back pocket and hands forty dollars out of the money stack to the taxi driver.
 “For caring, lunch is on me. Keep the change, buddy.”
            The taxi-driver responds with a relieved laugh, “Thank you, Ma’am.”
            Eve kicks open the back passenger door and grabs her duffel bag from across the seat. She shuts the door and walks across the street and up to the front door of her mother’s house. Eve puts down her duffel bag. The duffel bag is weathered and the color is faded from the use Eve has put into it. She claims it’s her lucky bag, as “lucky” is stitched across the pocket on the side, symmetrically across the pocket. The doorbell rings.
Cynthia yells from inside the house, “Coming!”

            Cynthia opens the door while still skimming the mail. Before Cynthia can look up to see who the visitor is. Eve sets the envelope in front of her mother’s face. 

2015©H.M. Gautsch