ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Her hair was the kind of brown where you just knew she was born blonde. Eyes, big and bright, filled with a wonder I couldn't name or place. She kept a ribbon tied in her hair; never yellow, it reminded her of mothers and children. She was a mystery to everyone and a misery to me.
They said that the colour of her skin was something that resembled perfection. White porcelain with peach undertones, something of a doll; a child made from china, painted colourful with deft fingers scarred blue.
Curiousity got the best of me and I looked too deep, too quickly; oceanic blue eyes that shifted like they'd already drowned every living soul that had stepped too close, sand-lined belly full, sated. I started to wish I'd learnt to swim but the waves were almost poetic, I kept yelling and each of my syllables would form a bubble that would float the surface and be lost. That was easy enough to explain with the laws of physics and the taste of salt water in my throat.
When i yelled at her in the house, the words just vanished, lost momentum and dropped in the slightly too large gap between us; word-bricks made up of the coppery tang of blood and stale hate.
She began to fade a little over time, her flesh turned opalescent and her breath dulled to the softest of whispers; an unfurling of child-waves new to the sea. Colours dimmed for her then and I became emboldened; I taunted her paper flesh with vicious kisses given by lips made of memory and the slightest tang of ivory until I was my own mystery and her misery.
They said that the colour of her skin was something that resembled perfection. White porcelain with peach undertones, something of a doll; a child made from china, painted colourful with deft fingers scarred blue.
Curiousity got the best of me and I looked too deep, too quickly; oceanic blue eyes that shifted like they'd already drowned every living soul that had stepped too close, sand-lined belly full, sated. I started to wish I'd learnt to swim but the waves were almost poetic, I kept yelling and each of my syllables would form a bubble that would float the surface and be lost. That was easy enough to explain with the laws of physics and the taste of salt water in my throat.
When i yelled at her in the house, the words just vanished, lost momentum and dropped in the slightly too large gap between us; word-bricks made up of the coppery tang of blood and stale hate.
She began to fade a little over time, her flesh turned opalescent and her breath dulled to the softest of whispers; an unfurling of child-waves new to the sea. Colours dimmed for her then and I became emboldened; I taunted her paper flesh with vicious kisses given by lips made of memory and the slightest tang of ivory until I was my own mystery and her misery.
Literature
blue hour eyes
people say
sparks fly when you meet your somebody
but it wasn't like that with you.
there were no sparks when we met,
no birds singing, no cartoon
hearts.
you were reading.
it was a thick book, and old,
and dogeared
and you glanced up at me,
and smiled
and i remember noticing that your
eyes were blue
[not blue like the ocean
or the sky
but blue like mountains that are fading
into the distance
blue like the moment after the sun sets
blue like snow in the twilight]
and when i heard your
voice for the first time,
it felt familiar
and new
and strange, but beautiful
twisting around me
like the music you sometimes hear in
Literature
baby blue
& the sea still speaks
slipping whispers with indigo lips
swelling waves dip dyed
baby blue
breathing in; out and in
seaweed limbs milky
as our ways carry me
staring at me softly
& oh my sea dreamer
eyes made of linen’s silk
(but men of bone)
heart rustled with chaos
& all in between
spread to my touch
kissing me
baby blue
Literature
tangled up thoughts
when she was a little girl, she
never wanted to be a princess.
it wasn't because she didn't like them,
but because
where other girls saw beauty
and glitter
and beautiful dresses, silky and soft
she saw power.
she saw a power and a responsibility that
no amount of beauty would
ever make her want
and she read books about
anne boleyn,
and visited haunted castles
and tried to imagine the kind of life where
people were locked up in towers
and brothers murdered brothers,
husbands wives.
she tried to imagine what those
big stone castles would look like at
night, with the lights taken away
and she tried to imagine waking up
a
Suggested Collections
© 2012 - 2024 ohsparrowsong
Comments10
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Mmmh, this is very interesting. I didn't realise at first that this was a collab, so I kept trying to figure it out. When I realised it was a collab, it suddenly made more sense for some reason. Perhaps because when doing a collab myself, I always feel like you're trying to weave to separate types of rope together and though it will most likely be beautiful, it's still two minds strangled up together.
I do, however, really love the tone of this piece. It's nice and soft, like an autumn pastel colour.. It's like there's something on your fingers and you carefully rub them against each other and you feel that there is something there, but you can't quite grab it. And I adore the abstract with the colours and the concepts that are pulled from those.
Btw, this line "Her hair was the kind of brown where you just knew she was born blonde"? Friggin' gorgeous!
I do, however, really love the tone of this piece. It's nice and soft, like an autumn pastel colour.. It's like there's something on your fingers and you carefully rub them against each other and you feel that there is something there, but you can't quite grab it. And I adore the abstract with the colours and the concepts that are pulled from those.
Btw, this line "Her hair was the kind of brown where you just knew she was born blonde"? Friggin' gorgeous!