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kokoro 7d
When he tells me he can't get me a valentine till later,
its so bittersweet.
I love him for telling me so i'm not put down,
and I love how he thinks for me.
But it reminds me of every time i've gotten my birthday forgotten,
any holiday surrounding me,
forgotten,
and those words,
"i'll get you something later, i promise."
coming out of a desperate mans mouth.
It's not that i crave a gift
i really don't, i really don't care.
but how am i supposed to have trust in something that has been broken so many times?
how am i supposed to have trust when i've been pushed aside as a later thought?
kokoro Jan 28
Two weeks ago I met the most perfect boy.
I decided to shoot my shot,
and I made my ball in.
Im not ready to truly say I love him,
but I already know I do.
I know because his cologne lingers in my hair,
I know because I can ask him anything without feeling ashamed.
I know because I don't even feel jealous.
From the day that I saw him,
I knew we had a connection.
From the day that I saw him,
I knew something had begun.
kokoro Jan 21
Ive made a million paintings,
a million drawings,
a million sculptures and figures,
but yet,
none of them feel like art.
Isn't art something you can discuss on?
Something you can talk about, something you can argue about?
but when you look at mine,
what do you see?
You know what you see.
What you see is staring right at you,
because its so clear.
Theres nothing to argue about,
theres nothing to talk about,
its one singular thing that everyone agrees about.
And even though its pretty and i'm proud of it,
it's still never really art because I never felt anything about it.
It never made me cry.
it never made me think about it all at night.
It didnt bring me joy,
it didn't bring me pain.
I just painted,
and thats what came flowing from my hands.
I want to make something that you can feel in your veins,
feel in your soul.
I want to create something that just shows something.
I want to create art.
I once saw a painting by Edward Hopper.
A painting of a woman sitting down at a table, all alone.
This isn't just a painting of lady sitting down,
its a painting of a lonley woman,
dressed up,
waiting for someone, but them never showing up.
It's not just pretty, but it tells a story.
kokoro Jan 14
I love his sound
the sound of his guitar,
plugged in and ringing after him.
I love the sound of his finger plucking the strings,
bouncing off and vibrating.
I love all instruments,
all kinds of genres and songs,
but my favorite song is the one where his guitar plays.
kokoro Jan 5
Its been three months
her hairs long now
it cascades down her back
moving as she walks closer to me,
grows closer to me.
I wonder how she feels when she sees me,
how she feels when she sees me standing there waiting.
all i see is guilt, and on top of that shame.
shame how it ended the way it did,
guilt on the way i acted.
i don't know if i should speak,
and if i did,
if she would respond.
kokoro Dec 2024
do you ever feel like your incapable of loving,
because you feel like you could never love someone like you used to love another?
like your fear has made a bar that you can touch but not surpass,
like nothing will ever match how you used to feel?
kokoro Dec 2024
You keep on running back to her
like a dog at dinner
you keep on running back to her,
banging on her door till she answers.
You know so much about her, yet you have yet to learn that her love for you is not pure.
You are so consumed by her beauty that it doesn't matter.
Her wrongs turn into rights,
her reds into yellows,
her deep brown eyes freezing you in time.
Her Love is so sinful,
yet you keep tugging on her rope till she falls down with you.
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