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serendipityprincess on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/serendipityprincess/art/And-Sailor-Tattoos-188267144serendipityprincess

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Fathomless

i. Her pale sea-foam dress swirls around bone white knees, caught in an endless maelstrom. It is fashioned from the salted tears of a thousand forsaken sailors and beaded together with stolen pearls—taken from the darkness of the sea's deepest chasms and hidden, suffocating caverns—and seems to undulate with nothing less than the utterly formidable wrath of Poseidon himself. She is as indisputably unfathomable as the ocean itself, with mottled blue lips, eyelashes laced with droplets of brine and damp hair that twists in limp rivulets down her back. When the curling wind brushes that seaweed hair to the side, it reveals

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The Windblown

Like a sparrow, you perch; toes curled and brown eyes wide, arms tinted blue with cold. In my haste to reach you I trip upon your shoes, tiny little things still drizzle-damp and abandoned at the door. "What are you doing?!" Your legs stretch for summers as you stand, dress billowing from you like a white flag of surrender. "Ava, come inside. Come inside. Please." You stare past my outstretched hands and step away—a sparrow, caught in a downdraft.

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Serenissima

Slumbering suns take a midmorning nap; alleyways bright with golden ladies, their smiles canal-deep. Nightfall brings guides: stone sighs and dead light, (never so alive).

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A History of Imaginarium

When we were young, we believed. In myths, in legends, in stories beyond the wildest imagination of the best story teller in the world. Tomorrow always held surprises, new stories, and new worlds for our imaginations to explore. Everything began with 'Once upon a time' and ended with 'Happily ever after.' We lived in a land where we all owned pet tyrannosaurus rexes, maybe a few dragons, a sword that rivaled Excalibur and faeries and pixies, who just happened to make great playmates. Fae food for some reason always seemed to be so much better than your average meal, and who needs an adult to talk sense to, when you could have a talking lion?

Literature

Dead Wrong

Dear Boy with the Broken Eyes. Just because they have always said it, things have always been difficult. And they are right. Life has always been difficult. Things will never happen the way you want them to happen. Broken hearts are so much easier to find than mended ones. And dreams? Well, if the world ran on dreams, we'd be building a whole new universe already, just to escape our own jaded one. When I met you, you had already seen the worst of this world. They told you that you were not allowed to love because you couldn't do it the right way. They informed you that you weren't a poet, just a vagabond with tragic fingers on a broken inst

Literature

Failure

She was the Thief Girl with no faith and half a heart, and she didn't care if they never ever saw her soul anyway. She was almost content in the half broken life she had created for herself. Her fingers were always drenched in ink, her mind was always preoccupied with her treasure. Words stolen from conversations, from homes, from mouths that didn't need to speak any more. She found the Lost Boy somewhere in an alley of poetry and a war of lyrics, fighting for his life with a broken piano and a worn tuxedo. She stole him before the bass viols, the gleaming guitars and the thrashing drums could kill him. He fought with her all the way, telli

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Mabon

there are dead leaves sprouting from her amber spine, reaching with child-fingers to devour the sun. her skin is freezing, seeping winter through november pores. seeking warmth, the whiskey tongues of godless boys wish to decipher the atlas of her thighs. counting the sleepy fireflies alight in her lungs- there is wanderlust churning & warming her frostbitten heartstrings. swinging pendulum hips, "I am the tease of autumn flames. I breathe in mint sunsets, & gasoline dreams."

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Bookstore Religion

Lurking in the shadows of roses, I formed my own Gods, my own constellations between the thorns in my teeth. Naming them after characters in a November's love story, Porphyria, Dorian, and Gatsby- I tasted earth and copper pennies. Choking on peppermint and oils- out of my mouth in rambles of hideous beauty: I recited poetic prayers to the classics.

Literature

Collection of poetic nothings.

We were opal Tuesdays, mosaic butterflies tattooed into the rose garden curve of my vertebrae, gliding me through this wild youth. But, like Icarus— I was a sky conqueror & these silk wings touched the sun. - My inhalations are heavy, like the earth he bruises beneath his fingertips as I chase silence. "You've got a tongue made for words." He says against the arrogant thorns of my briar spine. "Learn to love yourself." - How do I say I love you without saying I love you? "I want to replace my heart with you." - You are spider silk woven into my harvest moon heartstrings, spider limbs traveling this road map of s

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Let's Pretend We're Smiling

I know that you're wearing a mask right now. But I will not tell you to take it off. Instead, I'll wear one with you, and we can both pretend to smile. But on the day that your mask cracks; when the wall begins to break away. I promise I'll be the first to hold you, and bring you through your darkest days.

WordOfChen on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/wordofchen/art/Fertile-Soil-631404678WordOfChen

Literature

Throw me out to sea

All I can remember thinking is "how did we end up here?" as I stared up at the too bright sky, letting the sun imprint itself into my vision, in the hopes that I'd be just blind enough to not have to see the look on your face when I finally got up the courage to tilt my eyes from the sky back to yours. It felt like it had been decades since we met on this beach. Honestly, it felt like it had been centuries. I could barely remember what you smile first looked like, but I know it was so much bigger than it is now. The only thing I have left is the smell of laundry detergent on your fade t-shirts and the aftertaste of summer on your skin. I kno

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Literature

Candy at a Funeral

In the face of bitterness I have mastered sweetness. By the end of this day I will have calculated exact measurements of cream to wipe clean the face of gravestones. I will have learned to soothe the aching of windswept hearts, to break open on my part like a shell of chocolate quivering open, full of cream. I will have learned to love grief as dearly as my own dream. At the end of my childhood -my dream- of owning a candy store: a sweet shop, a bakery…. specializing in the art of the glazed. The wedding cakes, the brick tarts, memory of a birt

Literature

The Stepmother's Tale

I found a man in my garden bed, Picking herbs for his wife, he said, For she was hungry and heavy with child. "For greens, your daughter is mine," I smiled. So after the birth, I took her away To a tall, doorless tower where she would stay. I was her mother, she my one care-- "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your fair hair!" But then a prince came and stole her young heart, So I cut her long locks and let her depart. I took her tresses for my own And saw how beautiful I had grown. Then I wondered: could I, too, Find a prince so valiant and true? I married a king, to my delight, With one daughter named Snow White. Though his age w

Literature

Spilled Milk 2.0

The milk in the backseat is getting warm, condensation pearling on the plastic jug and dripping onto the bread. His glass doll eyes do not see this now, slumped against the steering wheel, windshield scattered across his lap like candy from a pinata. His face is stretched in a caricature of surprise, saying, But I was only going for milk. She is impatient, pacing their living room in her high heels, smoothing her dress with her trembling hands, casting acidic looks at the green numbers on the stove that insist on marching onwards though he should have been back fifteen minutes ago. He only went for milk, down the stree

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Advice Column

Don't live outside the lines they told her. Drink all your milk, wear sunscreen in the rain. Obey the speed limit, and every Sunday make a joyful noise where everyone can hear. Don't cheat on your taxes or second guesses - never sleep till noon. Let Katie Couric do your thinking - not Oprah, don't ponder why the grass is always greener where no one else can see. Make casseroles to freeze; learn to knit scarves for the correct charity. Take up racquetball or pilates but do not sweat more than the recommended dose. Remember, one glass of wine is lady-like, sophisticated; but green tea keeps you regular. Marry we

Literature

Why Poets Drink

Christ, there is a reason poets drink. Abstention feels bad - infertile and stuffed, swollen. It does not sell books or win those brass angels on ribbons. Tonight my lover is bourbon, distilled in some soul south of Carolina. It plays tricks with colors and the sounds on my tongue. It grows words where none have loitered for weeks and handfasts me to the rest of the world. It is ransom - a jest of seasons and my bone idle brain awakes.

Literature

Short Night

In a tree On a branch Is a nest. In the nest Is a bird With a crest. On the branch Is a frog In a wig. At the roots Of the tree Is a pig. In the sky Is the sun Going down. On the hill Are the lights Of the town. I look up And I see The sun set. Then I rise And go home To my bed.

And Sailor Tattoos

serendipityprincess

Published: Dec 3, 2010

3.1K Views

Description

A spontaneous photo of me taken by my friend, during art class.

Image size

2304x3072px 908.32 KB

Make

GEDSC IMAGING CORP.

Model

A735

Shutter Speed

1/28 second

Aperture

F/2.8

Focal Length

6 mm

ISO Speed

200

Date Taken

Jan 8, 2000, 9:51:07 PM

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TajVo

Jan 6, 2011

Drop anchor on a shoulder? Better be strong shoulders :]

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