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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.

Andrea Gibson

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Andrea Gibson
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: August 13
Poet
Calais
Maine
Andrew Gibson
Add
Math
Believe
Think
Thinking
Adds
Hateful
Asleep
Mostly

More quotes by Andrea Gibson

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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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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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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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But whatever However Whenever this ends I want you to know That right now I love you forever
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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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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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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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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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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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Every lover is a storm chaser. Every good heart has lost its roof.
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Hey, are you a boy or a — never mind, can I have a push on the swing?” And some day, y’all, when we grow up, it’s all gonna be that simple.
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I’ve written this poem before but always through a window, never through an open door.
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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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Remember, you didn’t come here to write your heart out. You came to write it in.
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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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Everything but I LOVE YOU is small talk.
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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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If you ever reach enlightenment. will you remember how to laugh?
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Love is like sunshine. Sometimes you have to get burned to know you were there. I want to know that I'm here.
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