Quote

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?

Andrea Gibson

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Andrea Gibson
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: August 13
Poet
Calais
Maine
Andrew Gibson
Make
Ground
Would
Exist
Bask
Tree
Nothingness
Hear
Forest
Sound
Panic
Fear
Bliss
Fall
Fell
Didn
Forests

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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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We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe.
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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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Autumn is the hardest season. The leaves are all falling, and they're falling like they're falling in love with the ground.
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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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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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Someday we will dare to trade good for true
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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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Everyone’s chest is a living room wall with awkwardly placed photographs hiding fist-shaped holes.
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You have a heart of gold and I am kneeling in your bloodstream panning for the only thing that has ever felt like home.
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Remember, you didn’t come here to write your heart out. You came to write it in.
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Love isn't always magic. But if I offered my body to the magician, if I told him to cut me in half so after that I could come to you whole and ask for you back would you listen for this dark alley love song? For the winter we heated our home from the steam off our own bodies?
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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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Every lover is a storm chaser. Every good heart has lost its roof.
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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 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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I don't have a single plan for my life more important than learning to love people well.
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I’ve written this poem before but always through a window, never through an open door.
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The holy have done more damage to this world than the devil ever could.
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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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