Andrea Gibson is an incredible award-winning poet and activist. The first time I saw them — (preferred personal pronoun is singular they) live I seriously sat back and thought: “My god, THAT is what poetry is supposed to make you feel.” Please familiarize yourself with their gift to the world and prepare yourself for a serious amount of emotions.
“Autumn is the hardest season. The leaves are all falling, and they’re falling like
they’re falling in love with the ground.”
“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.”
“Forests may be gorgeous but there is nothing more alive than a tree that learns how to grow in a cemetery.”
Scott Wylie
“Just to be clear
I don’t want to get out
without a broken heart.
I intend to leave this life
so shattered
there’s gonna have to be
a thousand separate heavens
for all of my flying parts.”
“You are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy.”
“Baby, I have no idea how this will end. Maybe the equator will fall like a hula hoop from the earth’s hips and our mouths will freeze mid-kiss on our 80th anniversary or maybe tomorrow my absolute insanity combined with the absolute obstacle course of your communication skills will leave us like a love letter in a landfill. But whatever, however, whenever this ends I want you to know that right now, I love you forever.”
“This is my heartbeat
like yours, it is a hatchet
It can build a house
or tear one down.”
“You never wish on shooting stars. You wish on the ones that have the courage to shine where they are.”
“Before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.”
“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.”
“Ya’ll, I know this world is far from perfect.
I am not the type to mistake a streetlight for the moon.
I know our wounds are deep as the Atlantic.
But every ocean has a shoreline
and every shoreline has a tide
that is constantly returning
to wake the songbirds in our hands,
to wake the music in our bones.”
“I’m never gonna wait
that extra twenty minutes
to text you back
and I’m never gonna play
hard to get
when I know your life
has been hard enough already.”
“Cause I might be naked and lonely
Shaking branches for bones
But I’m still time zones away
From who I was the day before we met
You were the first mile
Where my heart broke a sweat
And I wish you were here
I wish you’d never left
But mostly I wish you well
I wish you my very very best.”
“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.”
“My heart is still a leather jacket I am waiting to give to someone sweet.”
“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.”
“I’m not lookin’ for someone who can save me.
Life rafts might keep you afloat but they rarely get you anywhere and I’ve got places I wanna go.
So break me in two, peel back my rib cage and cover every page of my heart with love poems
you will burn someday.”
Caden Crawford
“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.”
“And we were Banksy on an overpass in New Orleans
spray-painting porch lights on the hurricane.
We were welcome mats for the un-forgiven.
We never sold our windpipes to make a living.
We were the letters sent to the wrong address,
but opened anyway.
We opened anyway.”
