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Everyone’s chest is a living room wall with awkwardly placed photographs hiding fist-shaped holes.

Andrea Gibson

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Andrea Gibson
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: August 13
Poet
Calais
Maine
Andrew Gibson
Wall
Shaped
Room
Chest
Rooms
Chests
Everyone
Photographs
Living
Placed
Hiding
Awkwardly
Holes
Fist
Photograph
Fists

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Remind me that the most fertile lands were built by the fires of volcanoes.
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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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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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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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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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What Gods do you believe in? I'll build you a temple of mirrors so you can see them.
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In your arms I forget what the yarn knows of sweaters. I forget how to hold myself together. So if I unfold now like a love letter tell me you'll write back soon. Tell me you'll still come untethered.
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Your ignorance keeps dismembering every piece of patience I have left.
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If you ever reach enlightenment. will you remember how to laugh?
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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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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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Forests may be gorgeous but there is nothing more alive than a tree that learns how to grow in a cemetery.
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I could never trust anyone who's well adjusted to a sick society.
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My heart is a parachute that has never opened in time.
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To think, a sweater, is made entirely of knots. My stomach could clothe a village.
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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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Say this is what the pain made of you: an open, open, open road, an avalanche of feel it all.
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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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The holy have done more damage to this world than the devil ever could.
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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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