[teaspirationss]

You're the kind of gentle that will definitely leave a mark, the blanket of nights that sleep in a casket inside your thoughts. It isnt so much sleeping as it is wandering in and out of you. I can love you from anywhere, but touching you is the only place I long to be.

if words had arms these would be holding you right now

[quay-writes-poetry]

You are the type of gentle they write songs about, the wind caressing skin on faces that were unaware of how much they needed you. The air that fills the lungs that sing quiet songs to tired eyes as the darkness tucks them into bed. You are everything no one can point to, but the personification of what they can’t live without.

And somewhere in the world someone’s remembering how important it is to simply breath and that’s where I’m sure I’ll find you

[quay-writes-poetry]

I used to find solace only in your shadow, maybe because it let me hide from myself.

It was one of the only places I felt was safe from my own reflection.

I looked for you in every crowded space in hopes that your voice would overrun my thoughts.

I searched for everything but myself in your soul,

I wanted to spend forever there, discovering all that you were..

But even after finding everything I wanted, I still didn’t know myself..

And eventually you left, you left and I had to deal with the sun.

I had to learn my own voice and understand the cracks that it held like sidewalks leading to an abandoned home.

Vacant but still standing, I felt empty but my heart still beat on it’s own.

I learned that maybe my life didn’t have to revolve around others to have meaning.

I swept off the dust on the floors and cleaned the cabinets abandoned long ago.

I fixed the rotten doors and planted a garden of love that I tended to daily.

I put artwork on the walls,

Built up the courage to look at the mirrors,

And finally built a place that I call home inside of myself.

And sometimes,

Sometimes I still invite people in,

I still crave connection..

But I remember that I dont have to cling onto any else’s shadow to live.

I don’t have to hide who I am In order to be seen

I tell myself

That maybe one day, we can share this home

With someone who will stay

But for right now

we are ok

Alone.

- and there’s beauty in finding solace in yourself, you just have to know who you are first

[quay-writes-poetry]

Hey there, I hope you're doing good man!

I would love to read something written by you about "How to finally accept yourself and survive the breakup with someone you saw your life with" How to love one self and not try to confide in anyone that shows even a little bit of love on temporary basis.

Sorry if it's too much to ask for :)

FYI,

I Love Your Words and how you weave them💕🤗

Mhm

[quay-writes-poetry]

And it was never in the daylight where I could find myself, the streets were far to busy, the people far to active. I kept changing into what I thought every face expected of me. A friend to one, an enemy to another, a teacher or a student. In those roles, there were parts of me but never the full picture that i longed to be. But I learned at night, when it was just the moon and I with no one else’s expectations suffocating me, that’s where the real version of myself was free.

- And there are days where I struggle to sleep simply because I know when I wake I’ll have to pretend to be someone else again.

[quay-writes-poetry]

And what are promises besides delayed flights and staying one day longer to linger in the arms of the one you love? What is warmth if not the kisses of sun that stay on the back of your neck as the wind whispers secrets in your ear? Tell me how nature loves itself and that’s what I want for you, remind me of how the water always returns to the sea and I will try to make a place that will always call you back. Maybe we will always long for something we don’t quite understand but maybe, just maybe you don’t have to know what’s missing when you have everything you need in the moment.

Sometimes when I look at you the only thing I see are all the places my lips need to be. I carry this pain because I don’t recognize who I am without it. There are aches in me that refuse to become poems. I caught you with my heart, but if I could be something, I would be a song that makes you close your eyes and listen. you’ve unravelled all the galaxies inside of my chest and you know the names of all the stars by heart, but are you strong enough to be weak with me?

It doesn’t really matter if I’m lost or found - you’re here.

Collab between @teaspirationss (italics) and myself (normal)

[quay-writes-poetry]

And I hate how I cant write without your name coming to the forefront of my mind.

Understand, I do not miss you. Your lies did more damage than nostalgia could ever create with the memories I had of you.

Your words were always better than the actions you put behind them and I can’t help but wonder how you could string together fallacies so beautifully in the stanzas of your hypocracy.

I don’t think about you anymore, honestly. I am happy, but for some reason when I try to write I cant help but to hear the echos of your words ringing in my mind.

As if my poetry will no longer be authentic because you never were when I wrote for you.

So, this is a funeral to the pieces I once created, pieces that I would later discover we’re based on a reality that was never true.

Good riddance, I hope they find rest in whatever waits for all of us.

- And if they do end up in a fiery inferno, Maybe you can find them again when you get there as well…

[quay-writes-poetry]

What's not on my mind? It's always running. How do you escape it?

And some will say that the noise drowns them out with their sounds, but as for me, the noise is a distraction from the silence that exists outside of it. Why would I escape the protection of my thoughts? For me, I have always find silence to be far, far worse.

[quay-writes-poetry]

Y he pasado demasiado tiempo intentando de hacerte amarme cuando no amo mi mismo. Y he pasado demasiado tiempo intentando a meterme en lugares donde no me querías. Y recientemente he tenido que encontrarme de nuevo, porque no me conozco sin el idea de ti.

Un poema para aquellos que tienen que luchar para ponerse primero.

And I have spent to much time trying to make you love me when I didn't love myself. I have spent to much time trying to fit myself into places that you didn't want me. And lately I have had to find myself again, becase I don't know myself apart from the idea of you.

A poem for those that have to fight to put themselves first.

[quay-writes-poetry]

Paras con tus palabras y siéntate conmigo. Hace mucho tiempo hasta que hemos mirado a los estrellas juntos. Hace mucho tiempo que he escuchado historias falso que cuentaste solamente para hágame reír, Ha pasado demasiado tiempo desde que me sentí amado por ti.

- Y yo se que la vida es aveces frenetica, pero hacemos tiempo por lo que es importante a nosotros, no?

Stop with your words and sit with me. It’s been a long time since we’ve looked at the stars together. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard fake stories you’d tell just to make me laugh, to much time has passed since I’ve felt loved by you.

- And I know that sometimes life is hectic, but we make time for what is important to us, don’t we?

[quay-writes-poetry]

And humanity is tragic...

because no matter how much we long to be held we don’t say it.

We see it in the movies and in the books and in our lives. We have all these needs that we don’t communicate because we’re afraid that if we show we need things people will leave us.

Humanity is its own worst enemy, not always people against other people but us against ourselves. We long for love, and laughter and commitment and tears and life and darkness but we suppress these urges under then guise of religion, self control, professionalism, and self improvement.

But when was the last time you just let yourself be? When was the last time you admitted that you had no idea what you were doing and that you were terrified that you’ve been wasting the time you have? When was the last time you were just honest and emotional and a mess that you didn’t feel like you had to clean up right afterwards?

What I’m really asking is when was the last time you took a moment and recognized that you just wanted to be held?

- And your trauma will tell you that having emotion is a weakness, but it’s actually what makes us human.

[quay-writes-poetry]

My girl won’t tell me she loves me anymore and she won’t answer my calls at night. Is it over between us?

Listen, I’m no expert about anything with relationships.

But sometimes people change and we change and life changes and we found ourselves trying to hold onto the memories of something that doesn’t really work anymore.

I’m not saying that it’s completely done, I don’t know the entire situation.

But I will say that we all deserve someone whose sure about us, and someone who knows they want to be with us.

Idk anon, all I’m saying is that holding on to someone who has already let go of you only hurts more in the end.

[quay-writes-poetry]

And lately,

I’ve been fighting the urge to reread books that I read when I was younger,

I’ve been longing for places that I know won’t be the same when i revisit them.

I’ve been reminiscing the conversations I had in my youth with people I no longer know.

I’ve been searching for who I used to be in everything I no longer am.

I’ve been fighting the urge to reread pages that i used to love..

- because I’m afraid that I’ll only find that I’m not really searching for the book, but for things I’ll never be able to experience again..

[quay-writes-poetry]

“I was wrong..” I told her, not sure what possessed me to make this sudden confession. It was 8pm, the sky was dark and the smell of syrup was floating in the air between us.

“I was wrong about love,” I sipped a bit of my coffee before setting it back down on the table and raising my hand for the check.

“Love, isn’t a hoax..” I said, finally coming to an understanding I’d been searching for all along.

“Maybe I’ve been trying to make this concept of love evil, to make sense of the tragedies I kept finding. But I realized something.” I sighed as I started stacking the empty plates on the table.

“It’s not love that hurts. It’s not love that rips your heart out. Love doesn’t make you cry yourself to sleep at 3am or make you want to take a baseball bat to a car. It’s not love that leaves you wondering if you ever meant anything, or if it was ever real for them.”

I said as the waiter put the paper down on the table in front of me. I smiled, quickly putting my card on top of it.

“You see.. love in itself doesn’t do that.. I think that sometimes, I confused love with the shitty people I kept trying to give it to.”

She nodded, thinking to herself that maybe I was right, maybe there was something to the revelation I had had.

“All I’m saying,” I said as I collected all the used utensils into the vacant cup in front of me, “is that I have never once felt the way I feel about her and I kept wondering why until I realized that for once, I felt like she cared about me just as much as I cared about her.”

“And isn’t that what we are all dying to find?” She asked me with a sad smile.

“Some one we’re willing to die for, but also someone who would never let us die in their name.”

[quay-writes-poetry]

And her green eyes remind me of tree leaves,

Not the leaves in autmn that the poets so often romanticize but leaves in the spring and summer. The leaves that are along the branches that keep the heat at bay as you hide beneath them.

And that’s what she is to me, a shadow to rest underneath. A chill spot that the sun seems to have forgotten about while everything else around me is blazing. I don’t not have to think twice about finding rest in her because I already know that she is waiting for me before I arrive.

Her eyes, remind me of the grass that touched my feet when I was young and to impatient for shoes. When I felt free to run around the yard until my lungs forgot what a full tank of oxygen felt like. I would collapse and be surrounded by the green blades that folded gently beneath my weight, as I finally allowed myself to breath again.

Her eyes remind me of times gone by, of moments that she knows nothing of. While also giving me hope for the future, for the moments we could create together. Hope for the things that are still waiting to be seen and discovered by us.

- And lately whenever I find myself laying down I long for her to surround me like the grass used to when I was young. I want to feel my breath coming back to me as I rest within her presence that surrounds mine... Could I just hold her gently.. as if she were a memory that I never wanted to forget?

[quay-writes-poetry]

"And I used to love the idea of the city,"

She told me laying on the couch, her black hair rooting themselves among the threads and resting against the pillow while the tv played soundlessly in the background.

"I loved the thought of the night life and the city lights and the fast cars and all that it entailed," she sighed, turning her head towards me to meet my eyes.

"But when I got there I found out that most of those things left me craving something more,.. you know, no one talks about the traffic or the smoke, waking up to a drill hitting concrete every morning," she said as her hand touched her head gently.

"No one talks about the headaches you carry throughout the day, the space that you feel you're taking up when there's millions more bodies around you. It felt, like..." she paused,

"Suffocating?" I asked, interjecting in-between her thought for what felt like had been minutes.

"Yes!" she groaned, while looking at the ceiling again. "The city was supposed to be where I was going to find myself, where I was going to grow and thrive and now I'm right back where I started."

"That's true," I told her softly, "but you aren't the same person you were at the start. You've grown and learned things about yourself."

Meanwhile I started looking for the Advil in the cabinets to help her with her headache,

"It's easy to fantasize about what life will be like when we leave, when we are "free", but the thing that we don't realize is that it's often not the place that makes us happy, but ourselves."

I smiled gently, as I handed her the medicine. She nodded silently as she took her water in hand.

"I could be wrong, but I think that you wanted the city to distract you from the things that you were dancing with internally, the noises that you couldn't silence while you were here. But nothing speaks louder than our own insecurities."

I said as I sat back down in my own chair, knowing I was speaking to myself as much as I was her.

"And I know you may not be happy to be back," I said, looking at her from the across the room.

"But I'm glad that you're home. With all its faults, I'm glad that you have a place that you can come back to when everywhere else seems a bit to loud."

- And the world has beautiful things to offer, but I think that happiness, true happiness, comes from somewhere deep within ourselves...

[quay-writes-poetry]

What Greek God should I write about next for “The Gods and their lovers”?

[quay-writes-poetry]

Mi amor, no es que no cuidar para ti..

De hecho.. Quería darte el mundo, pero durante mi intento para hacerlo me olvide darte mi tiempo. Y así es cómo perdimos amor... un momento olividado tras otro.

My love, it’s not that I didnt care about you..

In fact.. I wanted to give you the world, but during my attempt to do it I forgot to give you my time. And this is how we lose love... one forgotten moment after another.