immerse your soul in love

Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies.   Clarissa, pisces. The taste of chocolate, awake nights, unfinished books and a lot of writing and loving. This is a story of a mermaid who lost her way to the ocean. A mermaid song, an endless love letter to no one and to everyone, all the heartbreaks and all the love.

You can also check my other tumblr: handslikesecretss.tumblr.com.

twitter.com/clarissawolff:

    "She felt everything too deeply, it was like the world was too much for her."
    Joyce Maynard, Labor Day (via highrapunzel)

    (Source: larmoyante, via ladyalroy)

    — 1 month ago with 58991 notes
    #about me  #quotes 
    I carry the ocean in myself.

    I carry the ocean in myself.

    (Source: b1llionaire, via ladyalroy)

    — 1 month ago with 208435 notes
    #about me  #ocean 
    “Unless it’s mad, passionate, extraordinary love, it’s a waste of your time. There are too many mediocre things in life; Love shouldn’t be one of them.”
— Dream for an Insomniac

    “Unless it’s mad, passionate, extraordinary love, it’s a waste of your time. There are too many mediocre things in life; Love shouldn’t be one of them.”

     Dream for an Insomniac

    (Source: oneminuteonthelips, via paris2london)

    — 1 month ago with 15221 notes
    #love  #john  #reminder  #quotes 
    “have you considered that maybe i am not pleasant? maybe i wear lipstick so thatyou will see my pretty pink mouthwrapping around a coffee cup lidand be distracted enough not to noticethat i am intelligent and powerful;a threat. maybe i draw my brows into high archesso you will look at my unimpressed skepticismand overlook my spiteful glareas a trick of my silly, girlish routine. maybe i wear my heels so high and thinso that i grasp your attention with the sway of my hipsas i listen to the click-clack-click against the floorand know that if you should try to overpower mei walk on sharpened knives. maybe when i laugh at your worthless jokesi am really baring my fangswaiting patiently for the daythat i sink them into your neck. i am not made of porcelain pleasantries;you will find that these things are my armorto keep you at a distanceso you do not step on me and shattermy fragile control. i am not a husk — i am not wilting.i am turning my headso that the fire blazing through my eyesdoes not catch on the accelerant of your sweaty palmsand burn your bones to dust. i am not your pretty girl;i am a fury, a faerie, a phoenix —a forest of werewolves and wendigosthat will carve out your chestso that the next time i paint my pretty pink lipsi will taste the copper tang of your dying breaths.”
— R.K., I Am The Wolf Only Barely Contained
    have you considered that maybe i am not pleasant? 

    maybe i wear lipstick so that
    you will see my pretty pink mouth
    wrapping around a coffee cup lid
    and be distracted enough not to notice
    that i am intelligent and powerful;
    a threat. 

    maybe i draw my brows into high arches
    so you will look at my unimpressed skepticism
    and overlook my spiteful glare
    as a trick of my silly, girlish routine. 

    maybe i wear my heels so high and thin
    so that i grasp your attention with the sway of my hips
    as i listen to the click-clack-click against the floor
    and know that if you should try to overpower me
    i walk on sharpened knives. 

    maybe when i laugh at your worthless jokes
    i am really baring my fangs
    waiting patiently for the day
    that i sink them into your neck. 

    i am not made of porcelain pleasantries;
    you will find that these things are my armor
    to keep you at a distance
    so you do not step on me and shatter
    my fragile control. 

    i am not a husk — i am not wilting.
    i am turning my head
    so that the fire blazing through my eyes
    does not catch on the accelerant of your sweaty palms
    and burn your bones to dust. 

    i am not your pretty girl;
    i am a fury, a faerie, a phoenix —
    a forest of werewolves and wendigos
    that will carve out your chest
    so that the next time i paint my pretty pink lips
    i will taste the copper tang of your dying breaths.
    — R.K., I Am The Wolf Only Barely Contained

    (Source: smokingissexy, via ladyalroy)

    — 1 month ago with 82 notes
    #about me  #quotes  #reminder  #beauty 
    “Do not whisperglass promisesinto the crook of my neck.Do not make mebelieve in somethingso hollowand so breakable.Kiss me with featherswaiting in your mouth,kiss me with somethingso beautiful,it will slow down gravityand forget to fall.”
— Y.Z 
    Do not whisper
    glass promises
    into the crook of my neck.
    Do not make me
    believe in something
    so hollow
    and so breakable.
    Kiss me with feathers
    waiting in your mouth,
    kiss me with something
    so beautiful,
    it will slow down gravity
    and forget to fall.
    — Y.Z 

    (via doyoufeelaloneinthatway)

    — 1 month ago with 18486 notes
    #love  #john  #quotes 
    “The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.”
— T.S. Eliot
    The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.
    — T.S. Eliot

    (via fashionfever)

    — 1 month ago with 11785 notes
    #quotes  #beauty 
    
You’ve got the blood on your hands, I think it’s my ownWe can go down onto the streets and follow the shoresOf all the people, we could be twoThen I bite my nails to the clip, run back homeYou’ve got the blood on your hands, I know it’s my ownYou came at me in the middle of the night to show me my soul
Of all the people, I hoped it’d be youTo come and free me, take me awayTo show me my homeWhere I was bornWhere I belong

FOALS

    You’ve got the blood on your hands, I think it’s my own
    We can go down onto the streets and follow the shores
    Of all the people, we could be two
    Then I bite my nails to the clip, run back home

    You’ve got the blood on your hands, I know it’s my own
    You came at me in the middle of the night to show me my soul

    Of all the people, I hoped it’d be you
    To come and free me, take me away
    To show me my home
    Where I was born
    Where I belong

    FOALS

    (Source: winterfellis, via ladyalroy)

    — 1 month ago with 6685 notes
    #love  #ladyalroy  #john  #heartbreak 
    His neck, my red lipstick.

    His neck, my red lipstick.

    (Source: , via duplapenetracao)

    — 1 month ago with 3265 notes
    #love  #john 
    "

    A boy sprawled next to me on the bus, elbows out, knee pointing sharp into my thigh.
    He frowned at me when I uncrossed my legs, unfolded my hands
    and splayed out like boys are taught to: all big, loose limbs.
    I made sure to jab him in the side with my pretty little sharp purse.
    At first he opened his mouth like I expected him to, but instead of speaking up he sat there, quiet, and took it for the whole bus ride.
    Like a girl.

    Once, a boy said my anger was cute, and he laughed,
    and I remember thinking that I should sit there and take it,
    because it isn’t ladylike to cause a scene and girls aren’t supposed to raise their voices.
    But then he laughed again and all I saw
    was my pretty little sharp nails digging into his cheek
    before drawing back and making a horribly unladylike fist.
    (my teacher informed me later that there is no ladylike way of making a fist.)

    When we were both in the principal’s office twenty minutes later
    him with a bloody mouth and cheek, me with skinned knuckles,
    I tried to explain in words that I didn’t have yet
    that I was tired of having my emotions not taken seriously
    just because I’m a girl.

    Girls are taught: be small, so boys can be big.
    Don’t take up any more space than absolutely necessary.
    Be small and smooth with soft edges
    and hold in the howling when they touch you and it hurts:
    the sandpaper scrape of their body hair that we would be shamed for having,
    the greedy hands that press too hard and too often take without asking permission.

    Girls are taught: be quiet and unimposing and oh so small
    when they heckle you with their big voices from the window of a car,
    because it’s rude to scream curse words back at them, and they’d just laugh anyway.
    We’re taught to pin on smiles for the boys who jeer at us on the street
    who see us as convenient bodies instead of people.

    Girls are taught: hush, be hairless and small and soft,
    so we sit there and take it and hold in the howling,
    pretend to be obedient lapdogs instead of the wolves we are.
    We pin pretty little sharp smiles on our faces instead of opening our mouths,
    because if we do we get accused of silly women emotions
    blowing everything out of proportion with our PMS, we get
    condescending pet names and not-so-discreet eyerolls.

    Once, I got told I punched like a girl.
    I told him, Good. I hope my pretty little sharp rings leave scars.

    "
    'My Perfume Doubles As Mace,' theappleppielifestyle. (via queenofeden)

    (Source: theappleppielifestyle, via ladyalroy)

    — 1 month ago with 188710 notes
    #quotes  #reminder 
    cityvillain:

Susannah Liguori shot by Tyrone Leblon for POP FW 2012
one of my favorite contemporary editorial images

    cityvillain:

    Susannah Liguori shot by Tyrone Leblon for POP FW 2012

    one of my favorite contemporary editorial images

    (via ladyalroy)

    — 1 month ago with 18133 notes
    #about me  #reminder