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Somewhat inspired by Andrea Gibson's poem, Ashes.
A weary, lost soul who realised her selfishness, but was too late to change herself.
Wish|Protect|Scald|Ice Beam
Female, Young Adult. Poetic.
No sense of right or wrong, does not believe in justice.
A bit standoff-ish, silent to the point of unnerving.
A weary, lost soul who realised her selfishness, but was too late to change herself.
Wish|Protect|Scald|Ice Beam
Female, Young Adult. Poetic.
No sense of right or wrong, does not believe in justice.
A bit standoff-ish, silent to the point of unnerving.
The night I was torn from the pages of their Bible
and burned alive
my ashes came down like snow
and a girl who had never seen my face
saw me falling from the sky
and laid down on her back to make an angel
in the powder of my bones
From heaven, I watched her,
‘though my eyes were still flame
and my ribs were still blue,
they didn’t win, I whispered
as her arms built my wings
they didn’t win
Look at that moon
it is a pebble in my hand
tonight, I could skip it across that fog-drunk sea
to the lashes accordion in the night
and all they know of hate
is that it couldn’t beat the love out of me
that when they dropped me to the grave,
I fell like a bucket in to a well
and came up full;
carving my lover’s name in to the skin of a weeping willow
that had spent its entire life laughing at the rain
Hold me like a lantern;
staircase my spine
When they bring the children to my funeral
to scream faggot at my dust
tell them
I was born in to their casket
but I wouldn’t pull the splinters from my heart
any more than Christ
would’ve pulled the thorns from his crimson head
...
Write me down like this:
say my ashes never made the news;
say the jury was full of shotguns
and say the snow that fell on the tip of your tongue
refused to melt away
say this
to the kids hiding their heart beats
from their father’s fists
I planted the garden of my kiss;
I opened the night with my teeth;
I loved so hard that when they pressed their ear to the track,
the train they hear coming will still be my chest -
a rumbling harpoon; a sky they can not bury
Look at that moon
I am a pebble in her hand;
a harmonica held to the mouth of the river where
nothing
ever
burns
- Andrea Gibson
and burned alive
my ashes came down like snow
and a girl who had never seen my face
saw me falling from the sky
and laid down on her back to make an angel
in the powder of my bones
From heaven, I watched her,
‘though my eyes were still flame
and my ribs were still blue,
they didn’t win, I whispered
as her arms built my wings
they didn’t win
Look at that moon
it is a pebble in my hand
tonight, I could skip it across that fog-drunk sea
to the lashes accordion in the night
and all they know of hate
is that it couldn’t beat the love out of me
that when they dropped me to the grave,
I fell like a bucket in to a well
and came up full;
carving my lover’s name in to the skin of a weeping willow
that had spent its entire life laughing at the rain
Hold me like a lantern;
staircase my spine
When they bring the children to my funeral
to scream faggot at my dust
tell them
I was born in to their casket
but I wouldn’t pull the splinters from my heart
any more than Christ
would’ve pulled the thorns from his crimson head
...
Write me down like this:
say my ashes never made the news;
say the jury was full of shotguns
and say the snow that fell on the tip of your tongue
refused to melt away
say this
to the kids hiding their heart beats
from their father’s fists
I planted the garden of my kiss;
I opened the night with my teeth;
I loved so hard that when they pressed their ear to the track,
the train they hear coming will still be my chest -
a rumbling harpoon; a sky they can not bury
Look at that moon
I am a pebble in her hand;
a harmonica held to the mouth of the river where
nothing
ever
burns
- Andrea Gibson
