Forensics Poems Asking Too Much by Andrea Gibson
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 wouldn’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 mother’s name just by the way you describe your bedroom 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 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 your snowman armless for the sake of being harmless to the tree?
And if you would, would you notice how the 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 besides them when they’re sad, even if that 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 mother’s joy when she spoke it for the very first time.
I want you to tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind.
Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel.
Tell me­ knowing that 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 you 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, how would you explain the miracle of my life to me?
See, I wanna know if you believe in any god, or if you believe in many gods. Or better yet, what gods believe in you.
And for all the times you’ve knelt before the temple of yourself, have the prayers you’ve asked come true?
And if they didn’t did you feel denied? And if you felt denied, denied by who[m]?
I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror on a day you’re feeling good.
I wanna know what you see in the mirror on a day you’re feeling bad.

I wanna know the first person who ever taught you your beauty could ever be reflected on a piece of lousy glass.
If you ever reach enlightenment, would you remember how to laugh?
Have you ever been a song?
Would you think less of me if I told you I have lived my entire life a little off key and I’m not nearly as smart as my poetry I just plagiarized the thoughts of the people around me who have learned the wisdom of silence.
Do you believe that concrete perpetuates violence?
And if you do I want you to tell me of a meadow where my skateboard will soar.
See I wanna know more that what you do for a living.
I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving.
And if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes.
I wanna know if you bleed sometimes through other people’s wounds.
And if you dream sometimes that this life is just a balloon that if you wanted you could pop – but you never would because you’d never want it to stop.
If a tree fell in the forest, and you were the only one there to hear it, if it’s fall to the ground didn’t make a sound, would you panic in fear that you didn’t exist or would you just bask in the bliss of your nothingness?
And lastly, let me ask you this: if you and I went for a walk, and the entire walk we didn’t talk, do you think that eventually we’d kiss?
No way. That’s askin’ too much – after all, this is only our first date. Panic Button Collector by Andrea Gibson

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