YOU KEEP REMEMBERING THE FIRST TIME YOU SAW A BIRD’S NEST HELD TOGETHER BY AN OLD SHOELACE AND SCRAPS OF A PLASTIC BAG. YOU KNEW THE HOME OF A PERSON COULD BE BUILT LIKE THAT—A LOT OF THINGS YOU’D RATHER THROW AWAY.
I DON’T CONSIDER MYSELF A COLD PERSON, BUT THERE’S THAT WINDCHILL FACTOR.
I WANT TO BREAK EVERY PROMISE I HAVE MADE TO MY PAIN.
THIS YEAR EVERYONE I KNOW HAD A BROKEN HEART, EVERYONE I KNOW CRIED IN PRIVATE ON THEIR WAY HOME FROM A PARTY, AND NOT EVERYONE I KNOW WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING, AND NOT EVERYONE I KNOW WANTED TO EVEN THOUGH THEY DID. AND THIS YEAR I STOOD INSIDE OF A REDWOOD TREE AND THOUGHT, “THIS IS THE SWEETEST DAY OF MY WHOLE LIFE,” AND TWO MONTHS LATER I WAS SOBBING IN A PARKING LOT, THINKING, “THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY WHOLE LIFE,” AND A FEW MONTHS LATER I WAS DANCING IN MY LIVING ROOM, SAYING, “THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY WHOLE . . .” HAVE YOU EVER SEEN THE SEED OF A REDWOOD TREE? SO TINY. AND ALL OF THAT EVERYTHING INSIDE OF IT. ALL OF THIS EVERYTHING INSIDE OF US.
THE WORST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME WAS NOT THE WORST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME. HATING MYSELF FOR IT WAS.
COMMIT TO LOVING YOURSELF COMPLETELY.
IT’S THE MOST RADICAL THING YOU WILL DO IN YOUR LIFETIME.
THANK GOD YOU NEVER GOT BRACES.
YOUR BITE LOOKS LIKE A CITY SKYLINE.
I BET YOU’LL LEAVE THAT KIND OF MARK ON THIS WORLD.
I THINK EVERY GOOD ARTIST MAKES THEIR AUDIENCE UNCOMFORTABLE. I’D HOPED TO DO THAT WITH MY POLITICS AND NOT MY ANXIETY FLAILING LIKE THE ABOUT-TO-BE-DEAD GIRL IN A TEENAGE HORROR FLICK, NOT MY SWEAT SALTING MY CONFIDENCE LIKE A SLAB OF MEAT FOR A PACK OF RABID COYOTES, MY OWN SPINE CURLING INTO THE CLAW THAT STRIPS ME DOWN TO MY DAY-OF-THE- WEEK PANTIES—AND IT’S ALWAYS DOOMSDAY.
I SAID TO THE SUN,
“TELL ME ABOUT THE BIG BANG.”
THE SUN SAID,
“IT HURTS TO BECOME.”
SCIENCE JUST PROVED THAT AN ATOM CAN EXIST IN TWO PLACES AT ONE TIME AND I BELIEVE PEOPLE ARE NOT ALWAYS ONLY AT THE SCENE OF THEIR CRIMES. EVEN THE WORST OF US, I TRUST, ARE OFTEN ALSO SOMEWHERE HOLY, SOMEWHERE KIND.
I’M SITTING ON MY FRIEND’S COUCH SEVERAL MONTHS INTO BEING INTENTIONALLY SINGLE AND CELIBATE FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE I WAS TWENTY YEARS OLD. I’M TELLING MY FRIEND ABOUT THE PSYCHIC WHO SAID I’M GONNA MEET THE LOVE OF MY LIFE BY THE END OF JANUARY. IT’S JANUARY TENTH AND I AM SO FAR FROM READY FOR CUPID, THAT NAKED LITTLE SHIT, TO FIRE ANYTHING SHARP MY WAY. SO FAR FROM READY TO BE THE KIND OF INSANE ONLY LOVE MAKES ME. MY FRIEND MUSTERS EVERY BIT OF NEW AGE JARGON SHE CAN FIT ONTO HER TONGUE AND SAYS, “WHAT IF YOU ARE THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE?” I THINK, “OH MY GOD, I HOPE THAT’S NOT TRUE . . . BECAUSE I AM ABSOLUTELY NOT MY TYPE.”
MY PANIC GOOGLED,“HOW TO PERFORM CPR ON YOURSELF.”
IT’S TWO A.M. THE EMERGENCY ROOM PSYCHIATRIST LOOKS UP FROM HIS CLIPBOARD WITH EYES PAID TO CARE AND ASKS ME IF I SEE PEOPLE WHO “AREN’T REALLY THERE.” I SAY, “I SEE PEOPLE, HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW IF THEY’RE REALLY THERE OR NOT?”
THE DAY YOU DIED BECAUSE YOU WANTED TO, I TIED MY WISDOM TOOTH TO A DOORKNOB AND PULLED IT LOOSE. TAKE EVERYTHING I THINK I KNOW. EVERY ANSWER IS A GRAVE. EVERY QUESTION IS RAIN I WALK THROUGH NOW TO FIND MY WAY TO GOD, AND MY ONLY GOD IS FAITH THAT THERE IS COMFORT HERE, THAT WHO IS HURTING WILL HURT LESS THAN THEY DID BEFORE.
IF ONLY SHAME COULD WASH ME CLEAN, BUT THAT IS NEVER HOW HEALING WORKS. NOBODY EVER WON ANYTHING FROM ANYONE THINKING THE WHOLE WORLD WAS OUT OF THEIR LEAGUE.
I AM ALREADY BUILDING A MUSEUM FOR EVERY TREASURE YOU UNEARTH IN THE ROCK BOTTOM.
SOME PEOPLE HOLLER INTO THE CANYON AND HEAR SOMEONE ELSE’S VOICE ECHOING BACK. DON’T LET THAT BE YOUR LIFE.
FORESTS MAY BE GORGEOUS BUT THERE IS NOTHING MORE ALIVE THAN A TREE THAT GROWS IN A CEMETERY.
EVERYBODY’S
DARK
SIDE
IS
DAYTIME
SOMEWHERE.
THE HARDEST PEOPLE IN THE WORLD TO FORGIVE ARE THE PEOPLE WE ONCE WERE. THE PEOPLE WE ARE TRYING DESPERATELY TO NOT STIR INTO THE RECIPE OF WHO WE ARE NOW.
I IMAGINE WHAT THE FLOWER WANTED TO SAY TO THE FIRST HUMAN TRYING TO NAME HALF ITS PETALS LOVE ME NOTS:
“NO. THAT IS NOT HOW ANYTHING GROWS.”
I GET ONLINE TWENTY TIMES A DAY FOR THE SOLE PURPOSE OF MAKING SURE I HAVE NOT ACCIDENTALLY POSTED A NUDE PHOTO OF MYSELF.
BRAVE
IS A HAND-ME-DOWN SUIT FROM
TERRIFIED AS HELL.
SOME PEOPLE WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND THE KIND OF SUPERPOWER IT TAKES FOR SOME PEOPLE TO JUST WALK OUTSIDE.
WHY ISN’T IT OKAY TO SAY THERE ARE THINGS WE HAVE NOT SURVIVED?
YOU KEEP WORRYING YOU’RE TAKING UP TOO MUCH SPACE. I WISH YOU’D LET YOURSELF BE THE MILKY WAY.
I COULDN’T TAKE A COMPLIMENT WITHOUT FEELING LIKE A THIEF, COULDN’T BELIEVE ANYTHING PAST THE FIRST PAGE OF ME WAS WORTH THE READ.
IT WAS A LIE.
PICTURE THE 738 SELFIES I DELETED BEFORE I TOOK ONE I WAS WILLING TO SHOW TO THE WORLD. PICTURE ME WISHING I COULD GET ALL OF THEM BACK—MY SO-CALLED FLAWS STACKED LIKE BASEBALL CARDS I KNOW WILL BE WORTH SOMETHING SOMEDAY.
I DON’T WANT TO BE BEAUTIFUL,
I WANT WHAT EVERYONE WANTS:
TO BE
BEAUTIFUL,
UGLY,
AND
LOVED.
I’M NINE YEARS OLD. I DON’T YET KNOW MY NAME IS A SONG I WON’T ALWAYS SING UNDER MY BREATH. I DON’T KNOW MY PRONOUNS HAVEN’T EVEN BEEN INVENTED YET. I DON’T KNOW I’M GOING TO SHAVE MY HEAD AND DRIVE THROUGH TEXAS. I’M GOING TO KILL MY OWN GOD TO FALL IN LOVE FOR THE FIRST TIME.
YOU ARE
THE BEST
THING
THAT HAS
EVER
HAPPENED
TO YOU.
IT’S OKAY.
EVERYBODY’S SURVIVAL LOOKS A LITTLE BIT LIKE DEATH SOMETIMES.
WHAT I WANT MOST IS TO LIVE THE REST OF MY LIFE DESPERATELY WANTING TO LIVE IT. I WANT TO GIVE THAT TO YOU. I WANT YOU TO BELIEVE IT IS SOMETHING. WHEN I SAY I WANT TO MAKE SOMETHING OF MY LIFE, THAT’S WHAT I MEAN.
REMEMBER THAT PHOTOGRAPH OF YOU AT FIVE YEARS OLD, FROM THE YEAR YOU RAN AWAY FROM SCHOOL BECAUSE YOU WANTED TO GO HOME?
YOU ARE ALMOST THERE.
LET ME SAY RIGHT NOW FOR THE RECORD:
I’M STILL GONNA BE HERE ASKING THIS WORLD TO DANCE. EVEN IF IT KEEPS STEPPING ON MY HOLY FEET. YOU, YOU STAY HERE WITH ME, OKAY? YOU STAY HERE WITH ME. RAISING YOUR BITE AGAINST THE BITTER DARK, YOUR BRIGHT LONGING, YOUR BRILLIANT FIST OF LOSS. FRIEND, IF THE ONLY THING WE HAVE TO GAIN IN STAYING IS EACH OTHER, MY GOD THAT IS PLENTY. MY GOD THAT IS ENOUGH. MY GOD THAT IS SO, SO MUCH FOR THE LIGHT TO GIVE. EACH OF US AT EACH OTHER’S BACKS WHISPERING OVER AND OVER AND OVER,
“LIVE. LIVE. LIVE.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THANK YOU TO MEGAN FALLEY, WHOSE SUPPORT, ENCOURAGEMENT, AND WILLINGNESS TO READ THROUGH TWO DECADES OF LOVE POEMS PULLED THIS BOOK INTO BEING.
EXCERPTS FROM ANDREA GIBSON’S POETRY COLLECTIONS ARE REPRINTED BY PERMISSION OF WRITE BLOODY PUBLISHING.
THEY ARE FROM THE FOLLOWING COLLECTIONS:
POLE DANCING TO GOSPEL HYMNS BY ANDREA GIBSON
(LONG BEACH, CA: WRITE BLOODY PUBLISHING, 2008).
THE MADNESS VASE BY ANDREA GIBSON
(LONG BEACH, CA: WRITE BLOODY PUBLISHING, 2011).
PANSY BY ANDREA GIBSON
(LONG BEACH, CA: WRITE BLOODY PUBLISHING, 2015).
TO PURCHASE OR LEARN MORE VISIT WWW.WRITEBLOODY.COM.
What’s next on
your reading list?
Discover your next
great read!
* * *
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.
>
Take Me With You Page 3