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How many wars will it take us to learn that only the dead return?

Andrea Gibson

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Andrea Gibson
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: August 13
Poet
Calais
Maine
Andrew Gibson
Learn
War
Take
Many
Wars
Return
Dead

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We all have bullets beneath our skin we pray our lovers won't flinch at when they find.
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Remind me that the most fertile lands were built by the fires of volcanoes.
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Everything but I LOVE YOU is small talk.
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I have never met a heavy heart that wasn’t a phone booth with a red cape inside Some people will never understand the kind of superpower it takes for some people to just walk outside Some days I know my smile looks like the gutter of a falling house But my hands are always holding tight to the ripchord of believing
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I said to the sun, ‘Tell me about the big bang.’ The sun said, ‘it hurts to become.
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Forests may be gorgeous but there is nothing more alive than a tree that learns how to grow in a cemetery.
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Everyone’s chest is a living room wall with awkwardly placed photographs hiding fist-shaped holes.
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I don't believe we're hateful. I think mostly we're just asleep, but the math adds up the same.
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You keep worrying you’re taking up too much space. I wish you’d let yourself be the milky way.
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Our insanity is not that we see people who aren’t there. It’s that we ignore the ones who are.
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So guess what, if I ever have my own team I am picking everyone first even the worst kid and the kid with the stutter like a skipping record 'cause I know all of us are scratched, even if you can't hear it when we speak.
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I write because it is while I'm writing that I feel most connected to why we're here. I write because silence is a heavy weight to carry. I write to remember. I write to heal. I write to let the air in. I write as a practice of listening.
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Do you know they found land mines in woman's souls.
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In your arms I forget what the yarn knows of sweaters. I forget how to hold myself together. So if I unfold now like a love letter tell me you'll write back soon. Tell me you'll still come untethered.
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Sometimes the break in your heart is like the hole in the flute. Sometimes it’s the place where the music comes through.
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My mouth is a fire escape. The words coming out don’t care that they are naked. There is something burning in there.
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I intend to leave this life so shattered there's gonna have to be a thousand separate heavens for all of my flying parts
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Hey, are you a boy or a — never mind, can I have a push on the swing?” And some day, y’all, when we grow up, it’s all gonna be that simple.
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Love isn't always magic. Sometimes it's just melting.
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