Andrea Gibson Dies at 49: Celebrated Poet Who Redefined Identity and Love

Andrea Gibson didn’t just write poetry. They gave people a reason to breathe deeper. To cry freely. To live louder. To accept themselves in a world that often pushes back. And now, at just 49, Andrea is gone. But their words, their voice, their truth — those are still here.

Their wife, Megan Falley, shared the news that Gibson passed away at their Boulder, Colorado home, surrounded by family, former lovers, friends, and dogs. That image alone tells a story. A room full of people who loved them deeply. A room full of real connection. That was the life Andrea built. That was the love they earned.

Who Was Andrea Gibson, Really?

Gibson wasn’t just any poet. They were one of the few who made poetry feel like breath. Like fire. Like home. They wrote about identity, about being genderqueer, about being in love, and about living while dying. Their work didn’t tiptoe. It crashed through the silence.

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Born in Maine, Andrea moved to Colorado in the late ’90s. It became their home — and later, they became the state’s poet laureate. That title didn’t change them. It just gave more people a reason to listen. Their books, like You Better Be Lightning and Lord of the Butterflies, made their way into libraries, living rooms, backpacks, and hospital beds.

Their poetry wasn’t safe. It was real. Sometimes messy. Always honest. And for thousands, especially in the LGBTQ+ community, it felt like someone had finally put their heart on a page.

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How Did Andrea’s Words Change Lives?

It’s hard to explain what it means when someone says, “That poem saved my life.” But for Andrea, that wasn’t rare. That was weekly. Their poetry didn’t just speak to queer kids in cities. It reached kids in small towns. In churches. In silence. In fear.

Linda Williams Stay, a mother from Utah, first heard Gibson perform in a bar in San Francisco. She went with her son, Aiden. That night lit something up in both of them. Later, when Aiden came out as transgender, Gibson’s poetry helped Linda understand him better. When she was diagnosed with cancer, Gibson’s work helped her through that too.

They invited Andrea to speak at a queer event in southern Utah. And they came. That visit left a permanent mark on a small community that often felt invisible. That’s what Andrea did. They showed up. With poems that could tear you open and heal you in the same breath.

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What Made Their Final Days So Powerful?

Andrea knew their time was limited. Diagnosed with terminal ovarian cancer four years ago, they didn’t try to hide it. They wrote about it. Cried about it. Turned it into medicine.

Their last days were captured in a documentary, Come See Me in the Good Light, directed by Ryan White. It’s scheduled to stream on Apple TV+ this fall. The film follows Andrea and Meg, showing not just the illness, but the love. The heartbreak. The poetry that never stopped. Even when the body weakened.

At Sundance, when the film premiered, Andrea admitted they didn’t expect to live long enough to see it. But they did. They watched their life on screen, surrounded by people who loved them. The film even features a song written by Andrea, Brandi Carlile, and Sara Bareilles. That kind of collaboration doesn’t happen unless people feel your soul.

Their poem, Love Letter from the Afterlife, is one of the last they wrote. And it’s haunting. Beautiful. “Dying is the opposite of leaving,” they wrote. “I did not go away… I am more here than I ever was before.” That line is sitting heavy with a lot of us right now.

Why Did Andrea Gibson’s Voice Matter So Much?

For many people, Andrea was the first poet they really listened to. Not because of rhyme or meter, but because Andrea told the truth.

They talked openly about being genderqueer. In a 2017 piece for Out, they wrote about coming out at 20 while attending a Catholic college. They didn’t feel like a boy or a girl. Just themselves. Somewhere in between. And in one of their most beloved lines, they said, “I am happiest on the road/ When I’m not here or there — but in-between.”

Andrea didn’t fit into neat categories. They didn’t try to. That freedom — to be uncertain, to be evolving — was exactly what made them magnetic.

Tig Notaro, who knew Andrea for 25 years, said watching them in those final days was painful, yes. But also beautiful. Tig described it as one of the most meaningful experiences of her life. That’s what grief does when love is this big. It wrecks you. And it reveals something holy.

What Did Andrea Teach Us About Facing Death?

Most people don’t want to talk about dying. Andrea never stopped. Their poems about mortality, depression, fear — they didn’t offer perfect answers. But they offered honesty. In How the Worst Day of My Life Became My Best, Andrea writes, “When I realized the storm/was inevitable, I made it/my medicine.” That’s not just poetry. That’s survival.

Even while dying, they were asking questions. “Will the afterlife be harder if I remember/the people I love, or forget them?” They didn’t want to forget. That’s the kind of love they believed in.

Colorado Governor Jared Polis called Andrea one of a kind. And they were. There won’t be another. But maybe that’s okay. Because the point wasn’t to copy them. The point was to listen. To read. To carry the torch.

Andrea Gibson’s work isn’t finished. Their voice is still loud in every poem, every page, every memory. And if you’ve never heard it before, now might be the time.