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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.'

Andrea Gibson

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Andrea Gibson
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: August 13
Poet
Calais
Maine
Andrew Gibson
Love
Whoever
Moon
Single
Full
Become
Waning
Find
Waxing
Heart
Petals
Every
Begging

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You can have a cold war with yourself, even in the summertime
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I’ve written this poem before but always through a window, never through an open door.
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Remind me that the most fertile lands were built by the fires of volcanoes.
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When your heart is broken, you plant seeds in the cracks and pray for rain.
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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.
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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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Someday we will dare to trade good for true
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That night when you kissed me, I left a poem in your mouth, and you can hear some of the lines every time you breathe out.
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To think, a sweater, is made entirely of knots. My stomach could clothe a village.
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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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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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Let me also say I wanna make you sandwhiches, And soup, And peanut butter cookies, Though, the truth is peanutbutter is actually really bad for you 'cause they grow peanuts in old cotton fields to clean the toxins out of the soil, But hey, you like peanutbutter and I like you!
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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'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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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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Sometimes the most healing thing to do is remind ourselves over and over and over, other people feel this too.
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So guess what, if I ever have my own team I am picking everyone first even the worst kid and the kid with the stutter like a skipping record 'cause I know all of us are scratched, even if you can't hear it when we speak.
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But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back.
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Right now there’s a man on the street outside my door with outstretched hands full of heartbeats no one can hear. He has cheeks like torn sheet music every tear-broken crescendo falling on deaf ears. At his side there’s a boy with eyes like an anthem no one stands up for.
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Our insanity is not that we see people who aren’t there. It’s that we ignore the ones who are.
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