andrea gibson pansies

Maybe I need you the way that big moon needs that open sea.
Maybe I didn’t even know what was here ‘til I saw you holding me.
Give me one room to come home to,
give me the palm of your hand;
every strand of my hair is a kite string
and I have been blue in the face with your sky,
crying a flood over Iowa so that you mother
can wake to Venice.

Lover, I smashed my glass slipper to build a stained glass window for every wall inside my chest.
Now my heart is a pressed flower and a tattered Bible.
It is the one verse you can trust;
so I am putting all of my words into your collection plate.

I am setting the table with bread and grace.
My knees are bent like the corner of a page.
I am saving your place.

—  Maybe I Need You // Andrea Gibson

It doesn’t matter that you might have a slight tendency towards extreme jealousy
It doesn’t matter that you were one of five sisters 
And I have often pictured you at two years old, ripping your mother’s nipple out of your baby sister’s mouth and screaming, “That’s mine, mother fucker!”

All that aside, I can’t imagine it would be easy for anyone to see all out on the line, two decades of panties
And i'ts not even that I got around, it’s that I’m old and I wrote every fucking detail down, DAMMIT, TUMBLR
Tattling piece of shit.

Remember that time I saw the photograph of your mortifyingly attractive ex
And suddenly my field of vision became a junkyard of vision?
I couldn’t get my heart to start
I just kept running my mouth about how I was certain she was a better lover because she lived in Oakland and worked at Trader Joe’s
FUCK ALL THE HOT PEOPLE AT TRADER JOE’S

You’re right.

I know why you would not want to hear every hungry promise I ever haikued into someone’s ear
But not one photo left me feeling like a deer in the headlights
Of a car where her back seat is probably still wetting it’s mouth on the way you breathe the word “Baby”

I don’t believe either of us wants the truth
Filed down and hidden from the guards, my heart and your slingshot
And I swear, we had to be aiming perfectly every love of the way to end up here
Call every other lover the air that carried us in tailwind
Every “do you think she likes me” text you forwarded to your best friend
Every “maybe breakup” you chewed your knuckles for
Every time you cried your makeup off in an airport was you
Unfurling your ribbon heart a thousand red carpets on their way to me

You never have to tell me you did not love hard
I know you.
I know you were all in.
I know you lit up like a Kansas runaway, spotting the Hollywood sign 
Whenever you’d leave a room and overhear their mother’s whispering,

“I love her”
Of course they did.

Keep that for you
Call it a hundred poems that were holy true
That we come to each other with all of their hearts inside us
With all that ruin and flutter  
Every crushing first fight, where you both cried all night 
Trying to gather the wine back into the grape
Ever holiday she was not welcome home and you covered her apartment in Christmas lights 
All that tender, and beg, and surrender, and every promise we both broke like bread to feed ourselves better
To come here, jealous and on fire and willing to hold each other 
Through every moment the past feels like a sword to swallow 
To say,

Finally.
Finally.
Finally, my love, you must know what I would’ve given to have been beside you all along.
I have to wake up every day and forgive time for teaching me how to waltz before anyone had written my favorite song.

—  Andrea Gibson, To my love on the day she discovered Tumblr and every single love poem I have ever written to every woman I loved before her

They want you thinking you’re bad at being a girl
instead of thinking
you’re good at being yourself

They want you to buy your blush from a store
instead of letting it bloom
from your butterflies

They’re telling you to blend in,
like you’re never seen how a blender works,
like they think you’ve never seen the mess from the blade

—  Andrea Gibson “A Genderful Pep-Talk For My Younger Self”
youtube

“I am gonna run you a bath. That is to say, I am gonna run into the rain over and over with an empty glass ‘til you are soaking in the certainty that nothing falls in vain.”

andrea gibson /// pansies

Yes, I have a history of fainting. No, I wasn’t lying when I told you I am going to be more difficult than anyone you’ve ever dated.


It has been years since my life was a picnic where I wasn’t freaking out about the possible gluten allergies of the pigeons being fed bread in the park.


But you will always feel safe in knowing I will never make a piñata of your heart.


You will never have to lose yourself to win me over.


Tell me you’re a liar. I will say I already know you are a master yogi when it comes to stretching the truth.


But I’ll be willing to bet that we both have a history of downward dog.


…All I know is my name could rust entirely away
in your perfect mouth.

—  Andrea Gibson