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When your heart is broken, you plant seeds in the cracks and pray for rain.

Andrea Gibson

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Andrea Gibson
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: August 13
Poet
Calais
Maine
Andrew Gibson
Cracks
Seeds
Pray
Plant
Rain
Praying
Broken
Heart

More quotes by Andrea Gibson

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But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back. There is no bruise like the bruise loneliness kicks into your spine.
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None of us are pretty, but our ugly has an alibi.
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Someday we will dare to trade good for true
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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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Fear is only a verb if you let it be. Don't you dare let go of my hand!
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My mouth is a fire escape. The words coming out don’t care that they are naked. There is something burning in there.
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Do you know they found land mines in woman's souls.
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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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The holy have done more damage to this world than the devil ever could.
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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 can have a cold war with yourself, even in the summertime
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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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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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If love did not exist, I would be so goddamn sane.
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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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If you’re handing out flashlights in the dark, start handing out stars.
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You can find me on the moon waxing and waning. My heart full of petals, every single one begging 'Love me, love me, love me. Whoever I am. Whoever I become.'
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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.
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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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