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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.

Andrea Gibson

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Andrea Gibson
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: August 13
Poet
Calais
Maine
Andrew Gibson
Firsts
Hear
Scratched
First
Worst
Picking
Even
Causes
Guess
Like
Everyone
Record
Speak
Poetry
Inspirational
Cause
Kids
Records
Stutter
Ever
Team
Skipping

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Touch me ‘til my ribs become piano keys, ‘til there is sheet music scrolled across the inside of my lungs.
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To think, a sweater, is made entirely of knots. My stomach could clothe a village.
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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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Do you think anger is a sincere emotion or the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain?
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Everyone’s chest is a living room wall with awkwardly placed photographs hiding fist-shaped holes.
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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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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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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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Say this is what the pain made of you: an open, open, open road, an avalanche of feel it all.
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This is my body. It is no one's but mine.
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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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Remember, you didn’t come here to write your heart out. You came to write it in.
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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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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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The trauma said, ‘Don’t write these poems. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.
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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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Sometimes the most healing thing to do is remind ourselves over and over and over, other people feel this too.
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I have always been comfortable weathering the storm. I’d like to get more comfortable weathering the sunny day.
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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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If love did not exist, I would be so goddamn sane.
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