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Pansy

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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.

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)

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

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...