Everyoneโs chest is a living room wall with awkwardly placed photographs hiding fist-shaped holes.
Andrea GibsonAnd 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.
Andrea GibsonWe all have bullets beneath our skin we pray our lovers won't flinch at when they find.
Andrea Gibson