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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.

Andrea Gibson

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Andrea Gibson
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: August 13
Poet
Calais
Maine
Andrew Gibson
People
Ways
Days
Call
Born
Stills
Still
Birthday
Many
Died
Way
Terrible

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A doctor once told me I feel too much. I said, so does god. that’s why you can see the grand canyon from the moon.
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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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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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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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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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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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Everyone’s chest is a living room wall with awkwardly placed photographs hiding fist-shaped holes.
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Sometimes the break in your heart is like the hole in the flute. Sometimes it’s the place where the music comes through.
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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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I know a thousand things louder than a soldier's gun I know the heartbeat of his mother.
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Touch me 'til my ribs become piano keys.
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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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Your ignorance keeps dismembering every piece of patience I have left.
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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 all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe.
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When your heart is broken, you plant seeds in the cracks and pray for rain.
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To think, a sweater, is made entirely of knots. My stomach could clothe a village.
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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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Everything but I LOVE YOU is small talk.
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Last night I saw your ghost pedalling a bicycle with a basket towards a moon as full as my heavy head and I wanted nothing more than to be sitting in that basket like ET with my glowing heart glowing right through my chest and my glowing finger pointing in the direction of our home.
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