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"   Emergency Contact
It’s not that I think I am your type I think I’m the exact font you have been searching for your entire life I can tell by the way your fingers hover above the A key That’s me: Awkward So what?

I’ve been loving you eleven years
Eleven years standing outside your window
Throw down your hair
I’m talking about the hair you pulled from the drain when you were cleaning your tub
I want everything
You have ever tried to wash away
The first time you were teased in junior high
The last time you blushed from a compliment
Every fever that is not yet broken
It is true, I have never made a love potion that hasn’t blow up,
But your mouth is the sexist beaker
Bend me over your periodic table
Then try to tell me we don’t have chemistry

Of course
I am poly
As in polygraph machine
As in I can tell you are lying when you tell me you don’t want me
In a cheerleading outfit spelling only your name with pompoms
I will faithfully put anything on for you

Name the time period
Jazz age? I’ll wear a pocket watch beneath my flapper dress while fist fighting Hemingway for a seat beside you at the bullfight
I’ll grab your hand and we’ll run straight for the bull
What is love if it’s not running straight for the bull?
Then carrying him into an animal sanctuary in Massachusetts
Where he’ll forever be best friends with a pig named George

Love is a downpour of shelter
I want to wrap you in blankets until you are so dry you’re wet
I want to come clean in our dirtiest bed
Fuck playing the field
Do you have any idea how wild I could grow in the flowerpot beside your desk?
Baby, all of your petals are welcome here
In every ounce of your drought I will never ask you to weed your fear

When I say I want all of you I mean that chair jammed under the doorknob
I am a master at holding my ear to the wall and knowing when the coast is clear
The coast is most clear when there are lovers making love in the lighthouse
Telling one truth is a years worth of lamp oil
I will tell you the truth until every ship has come home to harbor
I will tuck you in every night beneath the quilt of sails

I will hire a stubborn mechanic
Someone willing to lay on his back beneath a ton of steel
Have him whisper to every valve of your heavy heart
Nothing can be fixed
Everything can be healed
That’s why my gravel throat keeps calling through this canyon
That’s why I keep lighting this torch after so many years
I promise to be so careful with the bird’s nest in the chimney

Give me one night One date
I have plenty of patience to wait
But what I know of eventually is that it rarely arrives without an escort of spill your guts
You can have all of my pipe organs
You can make an opera of my throat
You told me years ago I should start writing the poems I am terrified to write
Well here you go

It’s not that I’m not terrified
You’re going to break my heart in half
But when you do I want to have written your name as my emergency contact
I want God to call you and say if the door frame that saves you from the earthquake is part of love’s ribcage
Then the falling roof of your fear is love’s lung pulling you closer towards the truce
That final truce where even your terror becomes an open field
Love, this is the place where the wounded started calling the wounds on their knees ‘strawberries’

I will meet you by the maple tree
That will be my jacket thrown across the mud puddle
Waiting to dry your pretty feet “

Andrea Gibson, “Emergency Contact” (via ohandreagibson)


she carries a knife

just in case 

she finds something

she wants to carve her name into.

I swear to god

if i had an adam’s apple

i would tell her to peel it

and take a bite.

→ Andrea Gibson: KISSING


My friend recently had her first kiss. When she called to tell me the news she said she hadn’t realized there could be “so many worlds to explore in a single mouth”. She also said it in many ways reminded her of “eating something slimy.” I smiled for a long time about that one. A few days…

"   Yes, I like girls.
Yes, I like boys.
Yes, I like boys who like boys;
I like girls who wear toys and girls who don’t,
Girls who don’t call themselves girls,
Crew-cuts or curls,
Or that really bad hair phase in-between.

And I like steam
Rising from the body of a one-night stand.
I like holding hands for 3 months before kissing.
I like wishing your body was Saturn,
My body a thousand rings wrapped around you.

You wanted to be a Buddhist nun once.
Last night, you held my cervix between your fingers.
I thank gods I don’t believe in for your changing.
Tell me we’ll be naming our children Beautiful and nothing else.

Tell Barbie she can go now.
Tell G.I. Joe to put his gun down and find a boyfriend,
Or a girlfriend,
Or a girl-boy-friend.

Fuck it, y’all, G.I. Joe just needs a friend.
I mean, he’s plastic and not even the kind of plastic that bends.

I want to bend in a thousand directions
Like the sun does,
Like love does,
Like time stopped so the hands of the clock could hold each other.
And we held each other
Like I held these words for too many years on the tip of my tongue.

I am my mother’s daughter.
I am midnight sun.
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.
Love me,
Love me,
Love me.
Andrea Gibson, excerpt from “Andrew” (via adecentfellow)

(via riseupredwood)