n. the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your surroundings as a seal on a beach—lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted, huddled in the company of other misfits, unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you’d be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home.
(Source: dictionaryofobscuresorrows, via mirroir)
Lately I’ve been
vowels and staring
at the sun.
Wondering, if we’re
mostly water, doesn’t
it makes sense to
always feel like
- Lana Maric
My destination is no longer a place, rather a new way of seeing.”
by Marcel Proust (via adieufranz
(Source: stxxz, via adieufranz)
I have sea foam in my veins, for I understand the language of waves.”
by Le Testament d’Orphee
, film written and directed by Jean Cocteau
(Source: thesewanderlustchronicles, via aurelle)
Stay close to anything that makes you glad you are alive.”
by Hafiz (via aurelle
(Source: stxxz, via aurelle)
…throw roses into the abyss and say: ‘here is my thanks to the monster who didn’t succeed in swallowing me alive.’”
by Friedrich Nietzsche
(Source: seabois, via dialogues)
We are torn between a nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known.”
by Carson McCullers (via sprinkled-words
(Source: vvolare, via danish-streets)
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;
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.”
, I Am The Wolf Only Barely Contained (via werewolfarchery
There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”
by Leonard Cohen (via revestis
(Source: amorists, via aurelle)
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
and not something everyone knows how to love”
by Warsan Shire - 'For Women Who are 'Difficult' to Love'
“It’s a very Greek idea, and a very profound one. Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the Greeks or our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves? Euripides speaks of the Maenads: head thrown I back, throat to the stars, “more like deer than human being.” To be absolutely free! One is quite capable, of course, of working out these destructive passions in more vulgar and less efficient ways. But how glorious to release them in a single burst! To sing, to scream, to dance barefoot in the woods in the dead of night, with no more awareness of mortality than an animal! These are powerful mysteries. The bellowing of bulls. Springs of honey bubbling from the ground. If we are strong enough in our souls we can rip away the veil and look that naked, terrible beauty right in the face; let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. Then spit us out reborn.”
-The Secret History, Donna Tartt
I want every piece of me to crash into every piece of you. I swear to god that’s how they make stars.”
by Mary Lambert, ”Sarasvati” (via floriental
(Source: secretpoet, via moontravelers)
“I want to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid
of nothing, as though I had wings.”
— Mary Oliver, New & Selected Poems
Your skin is like velvet, your hair like burnt caramel. I want to touch every cell in your body and make you cringe the way I did when you told me you didn’t want me.”
by (via matteblackout
There must be something strangely sacred in salt. It is in our tears and in the sea.”
by Khalil Gibran (via seabois