"Asking Too Much"
I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with
Tell me why you loved them,
then tell me why they loved you
Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through
Tell me what the word “home” means to you
And tell me in a way that I’ll know your mothers name
just by the way you describe your bed room when you were 8
See, I wanna know the first time you felt the weight of hate
And if that day still trembles beneath your bones
Do you prefer to play in puddles of rain
or bounce in the bellies of snow?
And if you were to build a snowman, would you rip two branches from a tree
to build your snowman arms?
Or would you leave the snowman armless for the sake of being harmless to the tree?
And if you would, would you notice how that tree weeps for you
because your snowman has no arms to hug you every time you kiss him on the cheek?
Do you kiss your friends on the cheek?
Do you sleep beside them when they’re sad,
even if it makes your lover mad?
Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion
or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain?
See, I wanna know what you think of your first name
And if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mothers joy when she spoke it for the
very first time
I want you tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind.
Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel.
Tell me—knowing I often picture Gandhi at ten years old beating up little boys at school.
If you were walking by a chemical plant, where smoke stacks
were filling the sky with dark, black clouds, would you holler, “Poison! Poison! Poison!”
really loud or would whisper,
“That cloud looks like a fish, and that cloud looks like a fairy”?
Do you believe that Mary was really a virgin?
Do you believe that Moses really parted the sea?
And if you don’t believe in miracles,
tell me, how would you explain the miracle of my life to me?
– Andrea Gibson
https://andreagibson.org/
I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with
Tell me why you loved them,
then tell me why they loved you
Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through
Tell me what the word “home” means to you
And tell me in a way that I’ll know your mothers name
just by the way you describe your bed room when you were 8
See, I wanna know the first time you felt the weight of hate
And if that day still trembles beneath your bones
Do you prefer to play in puddles of rain
or bounce in the bellies of snow?
And if you were to build a snowman, would you rip two branches from a tree
to build your snowman arms?
Or would you leave the snowman armless for the sake of being harmless to the tree?
And if you would, would you notice how that tree weeps for you
because your snowman has no arms to hug you every time you kiss him on the cheek?
Do you kiss your friends on the cheek?
Do you sleep beside them when they’re sad,
even if it makes your lover mad?
Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion
or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain?
See, I wanna know what you think of your first name
And if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mothers joy when she spoke it for the
very first time
I want you tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind.
Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel.
Tell me—knowing I often picture Gandhi at ten years old beating up little boys at school.
If you were walking by a chemical plant, where smoke stacks
were filling the sky with dark, black clouds, would you holler, “Poison! Poison! Poison!”
really loud or would whisper,
“That cloud looks like a fish, and that cloud looks like a fairy”?
Do you believe that Mary was really a virgin?
Do you believe that Moses really parted the sea?
And if you don’t believe in miracles,
tell me, how would you explain the miracle of my life to me?
– Andrea Gibson
https://andreagibson.org/