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and I wonder if Beethoven held his breath the first time his fingers touched the keys the same way a soldier holds his breath the first time his finger clicks the trigger. We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe.
Andrea Gibson
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Andrea Gibson
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: August 13
Poet
Calais
Maine
Andrew Gibson
Time
Keys
Touched
Wonder
Breath
Trigger
Forget
Breaths
Beethoven
Reason
Soldier
Clicks
Firsts
Held
Triggers
First
Breathe
Forgetting
Different
Reasons
Finger
Way
Fingers
Holds
More quotes by Andrea Gibson
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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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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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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You panic button collector. You clock of beautiful ticks. You run out the door if you need to. You flock to the front row of your own class. You feather everything until you know you can always, always shake like a leaf on my family tree and know you belong here. You belong here and everything you feel is okay. Everything you feel is okay.
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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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None of us are pretty, but our ugly has an alibi.
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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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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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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.
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Yes, I like girls Yes, I like boys I like boys who like boys I like girls who wear toys and girls who don't I like girls who don't call themselves girls Crew cuts or curls or that really bad hair phase in between.
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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 am wrong more often than i am writing and even then i am often wrong
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We are all instruments pulling the bows across our own lungs. Windmills, still startling in every storm. Have you ever seen a newborn blinking at the light? I wanna do that every day. I wanna know what the kite called itself when it got away, when it escaped into the night.
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Every lover is a storm chaser. Every good heart has lost its roof.
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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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Touch me ‘til my ribs become piano keys, ‘til there is sheet music scrolled across the inside of my lungs.
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But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back.
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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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If love did not exist, I would be so goddamn sane.
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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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