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The holy have done more damage to this world than the devil ever could.

Andrea Gibson

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Andrea Gibson
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: August 13
Poet
Calais
Maine
Andrew Gibson
World
Damage
Devil
Holy
Ever
Done

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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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Touch me ‘til my ribs become piano keys, ‘til there is sheet music scrolled across the inside of my lungs.
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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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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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If a tree fell in the forest, and you were the only one there to hear it if its fall to the ground didn’t make a sound, would you panic in fear that you didn’t exist, or would you bask in the bliss of your nothingness?
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Everyone’s chest is a living room wall with awkwardly placed photographs hiding fist-shaped holes.
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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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What Gods do you believe in? I'll build you a temple of mirrors so you can see them.
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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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We have to create it is the only thing louder than destruction.
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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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You can have a cold war with yourself, even in the summertime
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Remind me that the most fertile lands were built by the fires of volcanoes.
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For Halloween I'm gonna be emotionally stable. No one's gonna know it's me.
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We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe.
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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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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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Say this is what the pain made of you: an open, open, open road, an avalanche of feel it all.
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Safety isn't always safe. You can find one on every gun.
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But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back. There is no bruise like the bruise loneliness kicks into your spine.
Andrea Gibson