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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?
Andrea Gibson
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Andrea Gibson
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: August 13
Poet
Calais
Maine
Andrew Gibson
Would
Exist
Bask
Tree
Nothingness
Hear
Forest
Sound
Panic
Fear
Bliss
Fall
Fell
Didn
Forests
Make
Ground
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For Halloween I'm gonna be emotionally stable. No one's gonna know it's me.
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That night when you kissed me, I left a poem in your mouth, and you can hear some of the lines every time you breathe out.
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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 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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This is my body. It is no one's but mine.
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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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I could never trust anyone who's well adjusted to a sick society.
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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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We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe.
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We were all born on days when too many people died in terrible ways, but you still have to call it a birthday.
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We have to create it is the only thing louder than destruction.
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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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I'm never gonna wait that extra twenty minutes to text you back and I'm never gonna play hard to get when I know your life has been hard enough already.
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But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back.
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I am wrong more often than i am writing and even then i am often wrong
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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 have always been comfortable weathering the storm. I’d like to get more comfortable weathering the sunny day.
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I thought, The flowers, save the flowers... I never thought for a second we wouldn't save the people
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