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Autumn is the hardest season. The leaves are all falling, and they're falling like they're falling in love with the ground.

Andrea Gibson

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Andrea Gibson
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: August 13
Poet
Calais
Maine
Andrew Gibson
Poetry
Fall
Autumn
Inspirational
Season
Love
Falling
Like
Leaves
Seasons
Hardest
Ground

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Say this is what the pain made of you: an open, open, open road, an avalanche of feel it all.
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I would kiss you in the middle of the ocean during a lightning storm cuz I'd rather be left for dead than wondering what thunder sounds like.
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Touch me 'til my ribs become piano keys.
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I have always been comfortable weathering the storm. I’d like to get more comfortable weathering the sunny day.
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How many wars will it take us to learn that only the dead return?
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But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back.
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I know you think this world is too dark to even dream in color, but I’ve seen flowers bloom at midnight. I’ve seen kites fly in gray skies and they were real close to looking like the sunrise, and sometime it takes the most wounded wings the most broken things to notice how strong the breeze is, how precious the flight.
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My heart is a parachute that has never opened in time.
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I’d cut my soul into a million different pieces just to form a constellation to light your way home. I’d write love poems to the parts of yourself you can’t stand. I’d stand in the shadows of your heart and tell you I’m not afraid of your dark.
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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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she's wondering how many women are walking around this world feeling the tingling of their amputated wings remembering what it was to fly to sing
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If love did not exist, I would be so goddamn sane.
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But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back. There is no bruise like the bruise loneliness kicks into your spine.
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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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Every lover is a storm chaser. Every good heart has lost its roof.
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Someday we will dare to trade good for true
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Cause I might be naked and lonely Shaking branches for bones But I'm still time zones away From who I was the day before we met You were the first mile Where my heart broke a sweat And I wish you were here I wish you'd never left But mostly I wish you well I wish you my very very best.
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I am living today as someone I had not yet become yesterday and tonight I will borrow only pieces of who I am today to carry with me to tomorrow.
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And we were Banksy on an overpass in New Orleans spray-painting porch lights on the hurricane. We were welcome mats for the un-forgiven. We never sold our windpipes to make a living. We were the letters sent to the wrong address, but opened anyway. We opened anyway.
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