It’s Just So

take me

Take my lungs. watch me as I slowly.  Gasp for breath.  Have me begging for air.  while I slowly start to suffocate  my lungs start to cave 

Take my bones.  replace them with glass.  watch me as I shatter and break.  look at the crystal stained crimson  step on me while I'm already breaking  listen to the music of my whimpers of pain,  mixing with the sound of shattering glass 

dear adora, from elliott

To the little girl, I used to be do you remember all those nights when you would stay awake Thinking and dreaming up all those far away hopes and dreams You would stare up at the ceiling planning out how you would do it all

All those late nights Planning on how you would save the day Becoming that perfect superhero Swooping in to rescue everyone, Saving all the kittens from trees, Putting out fires Freeing your family from that living nightmare they would never wake from

Remember all those promises you would use to make Between you and the world outside that shitty apartment window Telling yourself it would get better, rehearsing it so much it was branded in your heart and brain Telling yourself those thoughts would go away That you could wake up And be the perfect daughter You would wake up and be a girl and believe it Your body would no longer feel so wrong

Spending all those nights and early mornings Praying to that god you were so hopelessly clinging to Begging him to make it all make sense Those thoughts stuck circling in your head All the worries and fears that had kept piling up Tangling themselves together

What would you think of me now if you saw who you became Would you be proud? Proud that I finally found myself That I had finally realized who I was Would you be happy? Happy that I had made it this far, Being able to finally make it to sixteen, even though you didn’t?

I guess you had been right when you thought you wouldn’t make it For me to make it, you had to die That I had to kill everything that you were Stealing away your name Cutting off those long curly locks, everyone had adored scarring that beautiful skin, that used to be your pride and joy

To Adora, From Elliott

To the little girl, I used to be do you remember all those nights when you would stay awake Thinking up all those far away dreams You would stare up at the ceiling planning out how you would do it all

All those years you spent taking care of everyone else Watching your siblings,  making sure that they had the childhood you never had. Giving up on all those dreams you had made for yourself Handing them over to your siblings,  thinking that maybe they could let them grow. Planning on becoming their superhero, Ready to save their day, Shielding them from all the screaming, The sharp words being thrown like knives. Giving them a haven from the flying fists and broken doors.

But darling I promise you Your life will not have been wasted. I will following your footsteps saving the kids  from those monsters that lurk around them. I will keep themself, and make sure they grow

Remember all those nights you would make promises Between you and the world outside that shitty apartment window Telling yourself it would get better, rehearsing it so much it was branded in your heart and brain Telling yourself those thoughts would go away That you could wake up And be the perfect daughter You would wake up and be a girl and believe it Your body would no longer feel so wrong

Spending all those nights and early mornings Praying to that god you were so hopelessly clinging to Begging him to make it all make sense Those thoughts stuck circling in your head All the worries and fears that had kept piling up Tangling themselves together

you were right when you said you’d never see twenty-seven You weren’t even able to see yourself as a teenager The image always seemed so far off, Just out of reach  a dream you always had each night but always leaving in the morning light Leaving you with just tiny pieces of it.

You had been off by a few years though There was never a sweet sixteen for you No birthday presents and a new car. You had been long gone before that.

You had barely seen fourteen, Eighth grade was your last.  But I think you knew that. I think you had come to terms, Knowing that you would die soon. But that’s how you were always giving, giving, and giving. So I guess it wasn’t that big of a surprise.

What would you think of me now if you saw who you became Would you be proud? Proud that I finally found myself That I had finally realized who I was Would you be happy? Happy that I had made it this far, That I was able to finally make it to sixteen, even though you didn’t?

Because for me to make it, You had to die, I had to kill every part of you. I had to be the one to hold that pillow over your head, I still have the scars from those scratches you gave me. I carry them like war paint, showing the world how I was born.

I had to burn that name you carried for years,  Burning it to ashes, spreading them to the world. The name you carried on your back like a shield or a burden Depending on how you looked at it.

I cut off those beautiful brown locks that you loved. Those curls littered the floor of the bathroom,  while chopped them off with some old kitchen shears. That beautiful brown color was bleached and turned any color besides that natural tone.

Your skin that was then envy of your family I covered in scars and marks, making it match the way we both had felt. Making your family no longer love it, turning it into something they no longer wanted to see.

I took the breasts that you had always hoped for, And had chopped them off, leaving your chest barren and scarred making it easier for me to live, no longer have those things as a reminder as to who you used to be, while it had made you cry out in shame, for you had lost the things you had been hoping would make you feel as if you belonged in your skin.

but my dear adora, I hope you realize that nothing I had done to this body, that was once yours, was in malice or hatred.  it was just something I had needed to do, for me to live happily. please remember I’ll love you forever, my little girl of grey. rest well knowing will live this for the both of us, taking those chances you never did.

always and forever, Elliott Mars Parker.

okay but like the inside of a washing machine sounds like it would be a fun place to hang out

The person reblogging this from you is rooting for you to have a happy, healthy, and successfull 2023.

They may also be trying to put you in a washing machine.

Don't think about Foolish sacrificing himself for Eret.

Don't think about Sam and Ponk

Don't think about Puffy loosing both her sons once.

Don't think about Bad inviting Sapnap to the banquet.

Don't think about the banquet being just like the Manburg Festival.

my anger

my anger is a cigarette with every hit, it pulls me in the rage fills my lungs like smoke killing me a little each time disdain exhaling like smoke disgust clinging like the smell of stale  cigarette contempt lingers in my mouth and on my tongue like the bitterness of menthol repulsion circling around the air, smothering  those around me like the smoke

beautiful women covered in blood. you agree. reblog.

Take this body I'm imprisoned in,

This prison of flesh and fat

encasing me in something that feels so foreign

these breasts, that still haunt me

always stuck on my chest

reminding me no matter what

That this prison I live in is still female.

Take this skin I wear.

That's not light enough for it to be white.

but too white to be black

this skin that’s made of nightmares and scars

reminding me of all these nightmares, I've lived through.

Take these hands that are so rough and cracked.

Never to be soft enough for any of my lovers

where these jagged nails

are torn enough to rip and tear my cracked skin

Take my hair that’s too white.

To hold these curls of my ancestors

but still too black for my mother's beautiful red locks

take my voice.

That still shakes and cracks at the words,

I've had trapped in my throat.

Burning it raw and ragged

Making it so any words that I still manage to speak

are caked in the blood and pain

of the effort, it took to let me free.

commissions sheet!

hi, here's the deal: i'm a young mixed muslim with chronic anemia taking care of a kid, along with being in intensive treatment 20h a week. i literally don't have the time to get a job of any kind. so i'm opening commissions!

starting at sketches, lined is +$5, flat color is +$10, and shaded/lineless is +$20.

here's some more examples of my art!

i'll also be doing $10 traditional sketches like this:

i have the right to refuse any request, and please remember that i am a minor!

i'll only be accepting p*ypal and vnmo for now, sorry for inconvenience.

PM me for more info if you're interested, and reblogs are appreciated!

update: i've been discharged from intensive, but i'm still looking for a job, thanks for all the reblogs!

be proud

You tell me to SPEAK UP. To be "proud of my words" Let them out into the world. Stand behind them, ready to defend them with my life. And my entire being and soul

but how am I supposed to be "proud" of my words when I haven't even learned how to be proud of my self

how am I supposed to be "proud" Of these words I say. When I've learned that they don't even matter They get shot down and ignored. Before they even got the chance to be spoken.

How am I supposed to be "proud" when I've seen how you react To the thoughts, I've put out. Putting my heart and soul into them and then getting to watch you kill them