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To think, a sweater, is made entirely of knots. My stomach could clothe a village.

Andrea Gibson

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Andrea Gibson
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: August 13
Poet
Calais
Maine
Andrew Gibson
Entirely
Made
Think
Clothe
Thinking
Sweater
Sweaters
Knots
Village
Stomach

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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 am wrong more often than i am writing and even then i am often wrong
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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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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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You never wish on shooting stars. You wish on the ones that have the courage to shine where they are.
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...And for every day you paint the war, take a week and paint the beauty, the color, the shape of the landscape you’re marching towards. Everyone knows what you’re against show them what you’re for.
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What Gods do you believe in? I'll build you a temple of mirrors so you can see them.
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Fear is only a verb if you let it be. Don't you dare let go of my hand!
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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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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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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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But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back.
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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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But whatever However Whenever this ends I want you to know That right now I love you forever
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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 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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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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Everyone’s chest is a living room wall with awkwardly placed photographs hiding fist-shaped holes.
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I'm good at loving books. I'm good at loving soft bed sheets. I'm good at loving coffees and teas. I am good at loving things that can't love me back, that don't have the power to leave. And maybe, that's why I love them.
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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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