While this book is a rally cry for political action, it is also a celebration of wonder and longing and love. The top-selling queer poet in America, Andrea Gibson's Pansy balances themes of love, gender, politics, sexuality, illness, family and forgiveness with stunning imagery and a fierce willingness to delve into the exploration of what it means to truly heal. Each turn of the page represents both that which has been forgotten and that which is yet to be released.
Product Details
ISBN-13: 9781938912122
Media Type: Hardcover
Publisher: Write Bloody Publishing
Publication Date: 11-01-2020
Pages: 120
Product Dimensions: 5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.25(d)
About the Author
Andrea Gibson is not gentle with their truths. It is this raw fearlessness that has led them to the forefront of the spoken word movement the first winner of the Women's World Poetry Slam Gibson has headlined prestigious performance venues coast to coast with powerful readings on war, class, gender, bullying, white privilege, sexuality, love, and spirituality. Their work has been featured on the BBC, Air America, C-SPAN, Free Speech TV and in 2010 was read by a state representative in lieu of morning prayer at the Utah State Legislature.
Read an Excerpt
Read an Excerpt
To the Men Cat-Calling my Girlfriend While I'm Walking Beside Her
One of the biggest perks to looking the way I do is that I virtually never have to listen to someone like you suck your own dick, out loud, while telling yourself I am what you're swallowing.
How do you not know when you open your mouth like that women imagine
you would use your mugshot as your Ok Cupid photo? Fail. Fail is what you do
every time you think you can ace manhood without ever showing up to class. I mean class as in decency, as in common courtesy, as in the opposite of
Let me get a look at that ass, Baby Doll! Congratulations on being another dude who bought his catcalls from Toys R Us. You unoriginal hand-me-down of mediocrity. You mosquito
biting your own balls in a swamp of your mother's regret. Yes, I know it's low to call even assholes names. But any feminist who has ever taken the high road will tell you
the highroad gets backed up, and sometimes we need to take a detour straight through the belly of uncensored rage. Sometimes we get tired
of seeing people's humanity, when they are outright refusing to show us their humanity. And so far all you've shown me is that
your voice box is a Rubix Cube you couldn't get right, even if you peeled the fucking stickers off. I don't think you could get all sides clear on why
you do not own the air. Or why not everyone takes a bullet as a compliment. And yes, even Hey baby can spiral like a bullet if it is aimed
at someone who is not, in fact, your baby. If women have to play dead to walk by your doorstep, you might want to
do some work on why a casket turns you on. On why her flinch and startle makes you think you are in charge more than it makes you realize you own power outage. This city is dark with men blowing themselves
out. Men burying their own spines in the weight of what they think
is theirs to take to own to muzzle to drag into the ditch. This city
is dark with men hiding their own hearts like bloody gloves...