skribe

they/them/theirs side blog is @field-reblogs

[skribuprofen]

i still have potential

[jen-iii]

The Estate's Secret

(I saw the movie leaks and I was INSTANTLY thrusted back into ATLA hyperfixation and I wanted to give it a go at drawing one of my all time favorite characters because Toph's story is so wonderfully done and theres so much nuance that I HAD to draw em out. This is a two parter piece AND I still have more ideas so buckle up)

[jesterlesbian]

hey anyone figured out another way out but through. i’d love to not go through

[skribuprofen]

letters to mars

[skribuprofen]

i miss you. and i love you, and i want to keep loving you. but i cant do this. stop blocking and unblocking me, i see it every time. this is driving me insane. i am committed to whatever you want, and if what you want is for me to leave you alone, so be it. but i need you to decide what you want, and commit to that. if you were done with me for good, i would remain blocked. you would not be reading this at all. if you wanted to marry me, we would at least be speaking right now. if you need time to figure it out, i am not going to stop you, but i cannot keep going/stopping at your pace, with no communication. i understand that my communication skills are severely lacking, but at least i am trying. i do not mean to sound harsh, but i am anyway. im sorry. i just need you to understand, mars. i dont care about the sex and i dont care about the commitment to the mostly abstract plans for the future we had. i care about my best friend. i hope you are well. i want you to be well. what that entails is up to you. i just need you to please tell me if i should wait for a verdict, wait for you to return, or stop waiting entirely. i hope your finals go well.

[skribuprofen]

'the world is ending, but it always would.'

good morning. did you remember to brush your teeth today? it doesn't matter. you're going to hell anyway. do you think there is repentance for the sin of being born? it doesn't matter. you will always be scorned. you better learn to do something useful while you're still here. but will it matter when you dissapear? now what's more important, the how or the why? will either impact the way you survive? the world is ending, but it always would. the evil was always going to overwhelm the good. the nuclear bomb is coming, only a button away. how will you spend the rest of your days? what will you do now you're about to die? will you go out and live, or will you stay inside?

good morning. did you remember to shower today? it doesn't matter, you're dirty anyway. humans are dirty, we always have been. conquering and cowering, we were built on sin. can you save something made from hate? maybe it's best the world get a clean slate. and who's more crucial, the speaker or the skribe? will either matter once they've both died? the world is ending, but it always would. the evil was always going to overwhelm the good. the nuclear bomb is coming, only a button away. how will you spend the rest of your days? what will you do now you're about to die? will you go out and live, or will you stay inside?

good morning. did you do something kind? it never mattered. what will God find? he forgot about us a long time ago. when's the last time you saw a full rainbow? your clock is ticking, but so is mine. don't you ever forget, we are all about to die. have your wedding and funeral today - there's no "right time" when it's all slipping away. so what's more pressing, the now or the then? do you see where you're going or where you've been? the world is ending, but it always would. the evil was always going to overwhelm the good. the nuclear bomb is coming, only a button away. how will you spend the rest of your days? what will you do now you're about to die? will you go out and live, or will you stay inside?

good morning. did you say your prayers? it doesn't matter. you're not going anywhere. this is hell and you know it, you always have. of all the years on earth, you got the last. will anything matter when we're all killed? maybe if nothing matters, everything will. or maybe i'm hopeful. is that a crime? i just want to pretend there's some meaning to life.

[skribuprofen]

I slept in my parents' bed for the first time since I was a kid last night Because my bed still smells like when you visited me sometimes I should be over it, and I don't know how long it's been since then, But I can't get rid of your lingering woody vanilla scent. You told me once you usually forgot to wear that cologne, So why does your smell still take over my home? My therapist says there's a high chance this is all in my head, Resting and rotting with all the time we spent. My mother says that's where my memories belong, But they'd still be easier to carry with someone. My sister convinced me to apply for that promotion, But it doesn't feel worth it without your encouragement We used to be in love, and I know I'll never hear from you again, But I can't get rid of your lingering woody vanilla scent.

I don't know why, but my cat isn't currently speaking to me And that feels like such a dumb thing to bring up in therapy But I don't want everyone to leave me without an explanation If I don't know what's wrong with me, how can I fix it? My hands are cracking from the dry weather again, But I realized the only thing I had for it was your old lotion It's still sitting in the farthest corner of my room When you texted me about it, I told you we'd see each other soon And I can't bring myself to use something that isn't mine Maybe that's why I'm doing nothing with my life I wish my cat would at least sit at the foot of my bed, But maybe she's also nauseated by the woody vanilla scent

[skribuprofen]

i am half-asleep when i see you next to me. you prefer a pillow while i prefer none, so you’re elevated compared to me. the window across the room filters light through your curls, bleached blonde and faded. you look like an angel, a halo of sunlight and your chemical-covered hair framing your features. the slope of your nose, the curves of your lips, your eyes closed. there must be nothing more holy in this world than this, than you. there is no reverence i feel in church that could ever compare to the way you look when you lie next to me.

i sit up finally, rub the sleep from my eyes. i begin to kiss you gently. your forehead, your nose, the corners of your mouth, your cheekbones, the mole on your chin. there is no part of you i want untouched by my love. you smile before you open your eyes, already saying hello, calling me a pet name before reaching up to pull me down for another kiss. i whisper i love you in the space between kisses, soft, so as not to disturb the early morning air. the world is so still, so quiet. if i could live the rest of my life here, in soft sunlight and sheets, in your warmth, i would.

i am told that heaven is paradise, and here you lie next to me: your hair a mess, no makeup, teeth unbrushed. your breath smells bad in the morning, and you snore, and you always press your cold feet onto my shins. i tease you for these things, and many more, but i could never grow to hate it. i could never grow to hate anything about you.

what is heaven, if not the time i spend with you?

[skribuprofen]

I don't want to die tonight.

I don't have anything to do tomorrow except dishes and make my bed, but the day after is Easter. My family will still pretend they do not know my name, but there is time. There is still time.

It is hard for me to remember that. I have a bad memory. Faces, dates, if I ate dinner last night, what I was going to do just now: all mysteries. I'm working on it. I'm working on a lot of things, and I have to assume the universe is too.

I don't want to die tonight.

I haven't really been a hypochondriac my whole life, but I have been on recent months. I suppose it is because I have something to live for. Some of it is obligation - good granddaughters don't kill themselves, good roommates pay rent. Some of it is just to prove to myself that I can stay alive.

Besides, I want to marry my girlfriend. I want to be a Coulson, build my family with her, live happily ever after. A pink house. We'll be warm, and happy, and surrounded by colors.

So I don't want to die. It's new, actually. It's odd to care, strange to google symptoms and get worried about serotonin syndrome. I don't want to die - for the first time in ages, I'm not even considering trying.

I don't want to die tonight.

How nice.

[skribuprofen]

there is a single scratch on my wrist from where the cat got me.

the cat never did a number on me, and this time it literally was a cat.

i have never had a cat before. i didnt know that she wanted to be put down.

rumbling purrs and rumbling in warning feel the same when it is new.

i have known both in pieces, but i have never lived with a cat.

a lot of things are new for me, but one thing is the same.

i still wish someone would ask about the cut on my wrist.

i still hide it - something tells me i should be ashamed.

the scars on my leg and the cut on my wrist are the same.

when someone inexperienced handles something unassuming,

you end up with something that looks like me.

[skribuprofen]

i am not dead, but i am rotting moss cradles my head as my unblinking eyes and i look above into the blackness of night outlines of trees block out stars there remain only patches through gaps

something finds me lying on the forest floor and it obscures the few prinpicks i have left

it smells me. what does it find? can it smell my sweat? my desperation? my decay? can you smell what little remains of the person i once was? can you smell who i could have been clinging to me still?

all i know is the darkness looks the same when my eyes are opened or closed.

then i learn something new: the feeling of teeth tearing through my flesh

[skribuprofen]

i am between planets when it finally happens.

i have been trying to convince myself this whole time that it would not happen, even though it has been building. piece by piece, everything falls away.

it was always destined to, i think.

i have lost track of what was the first thing to go. of what things i have lost and what things i have given up, all in the name of reaching an end goal.

there was no backup plan, really. there is no safety net in space. there is nothing stationary to attach one to.

i packed too much baggage. there was not enough fuel to carry the weight of me and everything i came with.

maybe it would have made a difference if i had come with less in the first place.

does that matter? i dont know if anything unknown will ever matter.

it wont to me. nothing matters to dead people.

i should have brought less. i should have planned better. i should have used my resources more efficiently.

i should have never tried at all.

[skribuprofen]

the world is ending and nothing will love you, but there's coffee.

the world is ending, but the coffee is ready. there’s something sexual on the TV & the little girl down the street died of cancer. her mom killed herself the week after. my girlfriend is killing herself next, but i forgive her. it is finally seventy degrees again, but it is snowing do i wear shoes or a coat? i’ll put on my sneakers either way. someone once told me, a midnight walk is the cure to everything. but the girl and her mom are still dead. i lost my job before i could even apply to any. my friends will leave me, my sister will grow up, my girlfriend will die, my mom will heal and i will not be able to forgive her. i should really learn to play guitar, maybe write some songs, but that sounds like effort and that is too much. just because you want to be healthy doesn’t mean you are just because they want to help doesn’t mean they should just because they want to love you doesn’t mean they do. that’s not fair, but like your dad says, life isn’t fair. so give up on your dreams now: you’re just a body inside a brain inside a body inside something so overwhelming and abstract you could never learn to understand it at all. the world is ending; it has been for years. nothing will ever love you the way you hate yourself. do you want cream in your coffee?

[skribuprofen]

I am a creator, or perhaps a beast.

I know not the cross I must bear, I know not whether it be a cross,

But I know within my bones that I will design it

I will cleave the wood with intricate designs, stain it with my blood,

Meld my back into the front of the shape I have created with an oath.

I think I need parts of people long gone to remember parts of me,

And I think the only way I know to lose the parts I have forgotten is to fill the holes:

I will melt the wax from the statues of my new friends' faces

And mold them to tenderly kiss the gaping holes from crosses borne and tossed aside.

I wonder if anything will ever love me with the such passion as I hate myself?

There is a certain tenderness in knowing I care so much as to create this cross I will bear,

In knowing I am both creator and beast. The peices of me are forever tangled:

To take one, you must have a peice and all the peace of the other.

[skribuprofen]

I want to kill you, if you don't beat me to it.

I still have all your collections. The bracelets from your trips to the hospitals. The bottle caps from the malibu and the pink moscato. The three necklaces: your sister, your best friend, yourself. The friendship bracelet you made at camp where you had no one to trade with. The keychain from the artist you don't listen to anymore, save for nostalgic days. The scrap of yarn woven into your first uneven crochet rows. The honeycomb ring, the bracelet with a green gem, the shark figure. Your notebooks.

Why did you have so many notebooks and sketchbooks? You barely ever finished them, yet you hung on to every one. You kept every folder of loose paper, too, and still you miss what you have somehow lost. You have an archive of every thought you thought was worth writing down at the time, and still, you worry you kissed something.

Are you looking for something other than a reason to believe you are the main character with a tragic backstory, or are you really just such a self-centered bitch you think every moment of your life deserved to be documented? Is it you who makes me take so many pictures and write obsessively and keep lists so long I need lists to keep track of them all? Why do you think our life needs to be recorded like we're a fucking spectacle?

We are nothing. Okay?

I'm sorry. I know you wanted to be something. I know when I was you, fourteen and scared, all I wanted was to be remembered. You wanted to be a household name. You wanted to be on talk shows and billboards. You wanted to be in libraries all over the world, but most importantly the one in the town you lived in. The town that I hate, which you still believed loved you as much as you loved it.

We are not anyone important to anyone people care about, but we are important to the people we care about. Is that enough?

And I hate you, you know that? I hate you. I do not think I will ever be able to love who I was from fourteen to eighteen. You were a waste of who I should have been, and the only useful thing you ever did was turn into who I am now that I'm twenty. Someone who cares enough to be someone worth knowing by the time we turn thirty.

I hate you, all the way up until eighteen. Your body and your mind were sick, and I cannot forgive you for doing things you knew were wrong and harmful. I want to kill you tonight, so hopefully when I wake up tomorrow there is no part of you left inside of me. There is nothing worth keeping of you. Your poetry is shit and your photos are garbage at best.

They say one man's trash is another man's treasure. Good. Let someone else remember you, love you, keep you alive. I have had my fill of you: the first eighteen years, and especailly the last four of those first eighteen, are enough to last me a lifetime.

I sometimes wish eighteen years was all the lifetime you got. Maybe someday I will burn all that remains of you, and you will die the way you should. The way you wanted to.

I would release your ashes into the ocean with the letters you wrote to [...]. I wouldn't want you to be alone when you finally died.

I just wish I wasn't the one stuck with you.

[skribuprofen]

all I want for Christmas is you and me and four solid walls,

a house with a stable floor and a big yard for the dog.

i want music playing softly with your laughter through the walls,

and i want to worry about nothing at all.

there are five colorful stockings on the fireplace,

each of them meticulously planned and homemade

with matching colors and matching last names,

and photos of our family hung in matching frames.

all i want for Christmas is your love and your laughter,

and a promise kept of happily ever after.

[skribuprofen]

I sat on the park bench for hours and waited for a sign

As people and cars and stories I didn't know passed me by

The shooting star never came blazing across the sky

Like it did a lifetime ago as I laid in the field that night

Maybe I was distracted, looking in my lap at my phone

Maybe I was thinking too hard about my family at home

Maybe I was too busy calling that friend I don't want to know

Maybe I didn't see it, or maybe it just didn't show.

I am living in the past and the future and never the present

Until I suddenly notice I'm about to up and end it

I look up and somehow the sky has lightened

I've stayed all night, and there's nothing quite like it

It doesn't have to be so hard to be a person, you know

All you have to do is learn how to breathe and let things go

All I have to do is learn how to move on and grow

Or maybe my shooting star will never show.