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Spoetry
Spoetry
19/M A 19 year old heartbroken disappointment. Loves the stars, the sky and coffee. Books. Sunsets.
when it gets really quiet at night, I listen to my heartbeat and it almost sounds like the sound of your footsteps outside my door I wait for the knock until I fall asleep
0
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 11:17 AM UTC
part 31415
The best part(s) about living in a house on the beach: Sand is everywhere. You see it on your dilapidated bay walk you built the week after you moved in. It's in your shoes, your shirt, sand is everywhere. You'd hear the rhythm of the ocean in the middle of the night, waves knocking like lullabies that were clearly meant to keep you awake but failed. You smell and taste salty mist in your mouth whenever you'd strut outside every single day for the past 3 years. It's unlimited sand castles and sand kingdoms. You'd see how the moon lends it light to the sea, creating a white walkway on the dark waters whenever you stay up late simply because you couldn't sleep, and in the morning you'd see a canvass of colors as mother sun claims her domain, showing off shades of pink, orange and yellow scarves, God, I love living by the sea. Most of all, you love waking up to the sound of her footsteps, how she'd open all the windows, let light into the room and sing goodmorning. You love the way she runs to that old bay walk and sits down, you love the way she dangles her feet and tease the waters with her touch. You love the fact that this is, has been, and will always be your dream. You and her. Life often feels like that, but trust me, life finds a way to ***** things up. A balance, if you will. You see, when someone tells you they live by the sea, it isn't all that perfect. No one tells you about the first time it rained so hard, the waters caved around, under and above your home that it shook. No one tells you how often the waves are loud and menacing, you dream about how they loom over your home, or how unnaturally silent they are that you can't fall asleep without them whispering in your ears, singing to you in their rhythm. No one tells you about the time some people get left behind with their dreams. That of the two names carved on that bay walk, only one person was cursed to sit there and remember. No one tells you about the time she slowly became sick of the sea and talked about moving back to the city. No one tells you about the time she took off in the middle of the night and you pretended to be asleep. No one tells you about the first time you opened your windows in the morning, felt the color was more grey than orange, and your mouth tasted like her strawberry flavored lip gloss even though you only smell salt. It's writing both your names in sand and leaving them to get swept by the sea or blown by the wind. It's crying as you skinny dip so the sea can take away your sadness. It's shouting while the waves roar. It's sand everywhere. Sand and sea she left you. Sad how there's been more storms in your heart and rain in your eyes than outside your home these past years.
0
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 10:51 AM UTC
by the sea
The best part(s) about living in a house on the beach: Sand is everywhere. You see it on your dilapidated bay walk you built the week after you moved in. It's in your shoes, your shirt, sand is everywhere. You'd hear the rhythm of the ocean in the middle of the night, waves knocking like lullabies that were clearly meant to keep you awake but failed. You smell and taste salty mist in your mouth whenever you'd strut outside every single day for the past 3 years. It's unlimited sand castles and sand kingdoms. You'd see how the moon lends it light to the sea, creating a white walkway on the dark waters whenever you stay up late simply because you couldn't sleep, and in the morning you'd see a canvass of colors as mother sun claims her domain, showing off shades of pink, orange and yellow scarves, God, I love living by the sea. Most of all, you love waking up to the sound of her footsteps, how she'd open all the windows, let light into the room and sing goodmorning. You love the way she runs to that old bay walk and sits down, you love the way she dangles her feet and tease the waters with her touch. You love the fact that this is, has been, and will always be your dream. You and her. Life often feels like that, but trust me, life finds a way to ***** things up. A balance, if you will. You see, when someone tells you they live by the sea, it isn't all that perfect. No one tells you about the first time it rained so hard, the waters caved around, under and above your home that it shook. No one tells you how often the waves are loud and menacing, you dream about how they loom over your home, or how unnaturally silent they are that you can't fall asleep without them whispering in your ears, singing to you in their rhythm. No one tells you about the time some people get left behind with their dreams. That of the two names carved on that bay walk, only one person was cursed to sit there and remember. No one tells you about the time she slowly became sick of the sea and talked about moving back to the city. No one tells you about the time she took off in the middle of the night and you pretended to be asleep. No one tells you about the first time you opened your windows in the morning, felt the color was more grey than orange, and your mouth tasted like her strawberry flavored lip gloss even though you only smell salt. It's writing both your names in sand and leaving them to get swept by the sea or blown by the wind. It's crying as you skinny dip so the sea can take away your sadness. It's shouting while the waves roar. It's sand everywhere. Sand and sea she left you. Sad how there's been more storms in your heart and rain in your eyes than outside your home these past years.
Continue reading...
13
so hold your chin up high until the tears go back so far it remembers the first time the very first of them fell for a girl who wasn't worth crying about. pick the very broken pieces of you up and hug them gingerly like puzzle pieces waiting to be finished by someone who deserves all of you someone who will stick around to see the whole of who you truly are go back to those places where your lips spent more time together than apart and promise yourself this is not how the story has to end with regret and shame and sadness and anger promise yourself you will learn to separate the place from the girl your dreams have made their queen but no matter how hard you try there will always be bits and pieces of you in her and you will never be made whole again.
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Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 3:50 AM UTC
11/14/2018
You just know. No one tells you about the first time you open the windows and see how her eyes seem more grey than blue.
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Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 3:51 AM UTC
how it fades: 1
because loving you was like understanding that man can feel both anger and desperation at the same time and being with you means being in constant wait for the moment where all this would be worth the **** wait
0
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 5:33 AM UTC
why i let go
"I still see her around, and yes we often have lunch together. It doesn't really matter whether we still have feelings for each other. Sometimes, special people stay in your life for reasons other than love."
0
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 5:24 AM UTC
Untitled
***if jealousy was a kid he'd be living inside my heart breaking windows and slamming doors just to remind me that he is wild and he exists.***
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Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 9:05 PM UTC
doors
***i am not supposed to write about how you crawled under my skin at 2am bringing with you empty promises and leaving me with nothing but a broken heart but i am. i still am.***
0
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 7:56 AM UTC
Late Night Musings
***darling, I was right. You will always be in love. You will always find love with galaxies in your eyes, you will always have that extra hop in your step, you will always flash that smile worth killing for. You were always, always in love. Just not with me. Never with me.***
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May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
Always in love
***poetry lets go what the body can no longer hold.***
0
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 6:05 AM UTC
Why I Write