It's my 16th birthday, and I was wondering if you could draw a little birthday Bucky. I LOVE all your art so much!!!
Aww happy birthday!
I don’t usually do individual birthday requests because if I draw for one, I’d have to draw for every request. I can’t justify choosing one over others and I don’t have the time to accommodate all requests. Hope you understand :)
(Putting a gif of Chris and Seb here to soften my refusal 😂😅)
my grandmother was born somewhere between romania and transylvania
i do not know much else about her
but i know
she had one older brother
she had bright blue eyes
(like my brother)
and her father died when she was too young
(just like mine did)
my grandmother was sent to auschwitz.
she watched her mother get sent to her death.
her life was saved by a nurse
whose name she never knew.
she met the love of her life in a dp camp
and she moved to canada not speaking english
and just five years later
she had a son
(and then three more)
and she was happy.
i do not know much about my grandmother
i don’t know her birthday or her hometown
or what she sounded like when she laughed
i don’t even know the number that was tattooed on her arm,
her reminder that she made it out of hell alive.
but i do know that only two things
truly separate me from my grandmother,
and they are
time and circumstance
and nothing in this world scares me more than that.
I wrote this as part of a poetry suite for my writing lab, and i thought that today, yom hashoah, would be a good time to share it with you all. my grandmother lived a good life after the holocaust. at the time of her death, she had four sons and thirteen grandchildren. now, her legacy is two sons, fifteen grandchildren and 2 great-grandchildren; her great-granddaughter bears her name. my zeida, he’s still alive, though his dementia is so bad he can no longer communicate at all. he and my grandmother were so incredibly in love, so incredibly happy, and they lived with daily reminders of the atrocities they survived. we can never forget, because we cannot allow the same horrors to be relived. i can never forget because it is a horror that flows through my blood and makes up my atoms.
I don’t want realism. I want magic! Yes, yes, magic! I try to give that to people. I misrepresent things to them. I don’t tell the truth, I tell what ought to be the truth. And if that’s sinful, then let me be damned for it!
It’s April 16th, and you go to greet the young don with some birthday wishes and some pudding, but to your surprise you find this young man instead. Something’s off, he doesn’t look like the Giorno you know, but he sounds and acts just like him.