maza-dohta:

My father was a storm,
my mother, the rain;

I was born from fire,
but I inherited the sea
with the moon on my back;

she is my guide -
the tug of my breast
and the tears crashing ashore.

I am the daughter of the sky,
and I know no other home. 

dookdevotchka:

serenepristine:

I am not a soft woman. My shoulders never relax. My brows judge, and my lips kiss in frowns. My back, you cannot trail down with your mouth, and expect silk. I have claws I rarely clip. A happy trail to where I ache, where I beg for you to please, if you can make it through another forest. I am dented, marked, bumpy. I am the surface of the Earth, and forever jealous of how the sea can express its sorrow. I cannot be a pearl. I cannot be a flower. I cannot be your bed. I am not a soft woman. But my name is gentle in your mouth. My words are warm embraces to the waist. You treat me gingerly. You do not mind.

No, you cannot tousle my bed head. It will not shine in morning’s reckoning. No scent I harbour is one to long for. Pry my eyes from their crusting. The world’s dust settles on me, and my mouth is either too dry for greeting, or spilling over with the kisses from my dreams; its drool wets the pillow talk. I am not a soft woman, though I scrape at the callousness under the shower, until i’m sore. But you connect the dots on me, planting stars and hearts everywhere. You breathe a line from the poet we both know. “God, doesn’t she wear the world well.”

(via owls-love-tea)

(via moonbrains)

(via moonbrains)

(via jezebellash)

avett-druthers:

you say you’re afraid of dying alone but

what about living alone?

sharing a bottle of wine with your thoughts is only romantic 

the first two times,

and meeting your own demons requires a little too much

hand-shaking.

(via lifeinthearctic)

(via honey-andtar)