Quote

Yesterday i carved your name into the surface of an ice cube then held it against my chest til it melted into my aching pores today i cried so hard the neighbors knocked on my door and asked if I wanted to borrow some sugar.

Andrea Gibson

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Andrea Gibson
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: August 13
Poet
Calais
Maine
Andrew Gibson
Names
Neighbor
Borrow
Today
Held
Knocked
Wanted
Yesterday
Neighbors
Pores
Hard
Surface
Chest
Cube
Door
Chests
Melted
Asked
Cried
Cubes
Doors
Ice
Aching
Name
Sugar
Carved

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Your ignorance keeps dismembering every piece of patience I have left.
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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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This is my heartbeat like yours, it is a hatchet It can build a house or tear one down.
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A doctor once told me I feel too much. I said, so does god. that’s why you can see the grand canyon from the moon.
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You can have a cold war with yourself, even in the summertime
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Last night I saw your ghost pedalling a bicycle with a basket towards a moon as full as my heavy head and I wanted nothing more than to be sitting in that basket like ET with my glowing heart glowing right through my chest and my glowing finger pointing in the direction of our home.
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This is my body. It is no one's but mine.
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If a tree fell in the forest, and you were the only one there to hear it if its fall to the ground didn’t make a sound, would you panic in fear that you didn’t exist, or would you bask in the bliss of your nothingness?
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Remind me that the most fertile lands were built by the fires of volcanoes.
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Touch me 'til my ribs become piano keys.
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I'm not lookin' for someone who can save me. Life rafts might keep you afloat but they rarely get you anywhere and I've got places I wanna go. So break me in two, peel back my rib cage and cover every page of my heart with love poems you will burn someday.
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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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Know you belong here. You belong here and everything you feel is okay.
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The holy have done more damage to this world than the devil ever could.
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Do you think anger is a sincere emotion or the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain?
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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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We're boxed in and labeled before we're ever able to speak who we believe we are or who we dream we'll become.
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We have to create it is the only thing louder than destruction.
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To think, a sweater, is made entirely of knots. My stomach could clothe a village.
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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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