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Tag: art
why do I write?
I write to express myself.
I write to create.
I write to discover.
I write because I can’t NOT do it.
I write because I enjoy writing.
I write to share a little bit about myself and to learn a lot about myself.
I write cause I’m inspired.
I write to inspire.
I write for me.
I write for you.
I write to feel better.
I write to purge.
I write to love.
I write because I love.
I write because I hate.
I write for all the times I could not speak.
I write to reflect. I write to relate.
I write to release.
I write to recognize.
I write to recharge.
I write to record.
I write to refrain.
I write to repair.
I write to return.
I write to revolt.
I write to revolve.
I write to remember. I write to forget. .
I write because it makes the loneliness feel less lonely.
I write because I learn from writing.
I write because it’s what keeps me from pulling the trigger too quickly.
I write because I want to write…
because I need to write and because I love to write.
Color box
Don’t ever let the adult you
Grow up so much
That the child you
Dies
Break out the box of crayons
(if you still have ’em)
Buy a box
(if ya don’t)
Turn off your mind
And just color like you did
When you were a kid
Free from worry
Free from judgement
Free from rules or beliefs
Our adult selves hold onto
For whatever reason we do
Free From the weight of all the things that over complicate our lives and waste our time and energy
Free to feel the excitement from the simple things again
Do this
And you’ll start to remember
the joy and love and excitement
You felt
As a child
All from a box of colored wax
And a piece of paper.
Selling everything I own
ART SHOWING. ART FOR SALE. EVERYTHING MUST GO!!!
Tomorrow I have an art show
Showing/selling new pieces and selling all my old pieces too. Everything for sale!!! Everything must go!!!
Check out my instagram @kyokocoleart
And email me kyoko.cole@gmail.com
if you’re interested in any of the pieces listed
Prices are negotiable. I also have prints of most for sale. Email me.
a.d.w.a.y – (something i wrote exactly 4 years ago tonight)
a.d. w. a. y. ?
you would write a thing or two and
toss it a million ways around
the net-
-work
it’s way aross the many screens
i didn’t think twice
when it would
sometimes hit me
sometimes miss me.
but now i find myself missing you
you were lonely then
like me now
searching for something
that only exists with some people
and even some people have exhausted it
but you were sensitive like me
i could feel that between the static
i could feel that between the lies
the lies of life
we see
and run into
and
all i can think about right now
is the empty
and the space
the negative
the silent
on the memory of something
notifiations never-
tag my name now
no notes
no news
not
nothing
new
comes now
from you
you’re nowhere to be seen
please
come
back
my friend
you don’t know how much you mean
…
to me 🙂
It’s not my time or maybe it’s exactly that
I might have let it get to me
What I feel
What I see
What is what
What is not
I don’t know
What is real
i don’t know
much of what is
other than
what i feel
And what’s really to be
What you
do
and
do not
show
And what all is
left over
Rinsed out
the residue
Really has got a hold of me
For the time being
for now
but
Not forever
The hazy
Dazy
Lazy
crazy
Glue
of me
But nothing
ever sticks to you
All that is
or isn’t
ever true
with you
You can quickly cut
You can easily undo
as i struggle to make my way through
…
it all..
From a reaction
without any
satisfaction
What it is
what isn’t
and what it never was
and what it will never be
as anger grows
and confusion shows
only breeds
more negativity
and nothing more
out of nothing less
with less and less humility
Tear down everything
Instead of build up
now lost
as
we lose
No trying
to understand
No one
to hold my hand
lack of care
Lack of love
i ask for a miracle
or something more
from up above
i don’t know the name
it all starts to become the same
as everything before
until there is no more
we all lose ourselves out there somewhere
but where are you …???
and where am i???
20 years have gone by too soon
come back down
to this place
underneath the timeless moon
stupid magic (or maybe it’s just the whiskey)
I get on quite easy
living life as a spy,
I’m a stupid kinda person.
what kind of a stupid person am i?
I like train spotting and breeding guppies.
i want to be like all the yuppies
in this town who pass me by
and never say hi
but when i’m left alone
I like to contemplate night.
When the feeling is never right
I start to daydream
about nothing and
everything
that only matters much to a stupid person like me
My mind turns straight to whiskey.
i might just love it more than night?
i just might drink myself to get myself right
i just might drink myself more stupid and start a fight
i love falling over and getting dirty hands
i love to use words like magic and psycho
and say things like “no one understands”
but when i stop my talking
that’s a when i start my walking
down to get my fix
and fill myself easy
with a mix of cheap thrill
i’m a stupid kind of person out for the kill
i used to write (i’m writing now)
finding the way through fears. finding myself and the freedom that comes from knowing thy self.
i used to write
my heart out
without any doubt
without any fright
but somewhere along the heartache and years
there seems to be a build up of unsound fears
that accumulate
in a frantic state
inside an emotional ride
takes me to the other side
automatic
erratic
sick and unfit
the only way out
is to move through it
be silent and still
and in the right state of mind
i find
myself
and know myself
better than to let
any thing or anyone
get
me down –
the truth is those things don’t matter to me
i matter to me
knowing myself is what sets me free
-k.c.
the ghost of my friends
This is not a prison.
This is a trap.
I am the bait.
___________________________________________________________
Having balls is a good thing
having raw passion is a good thing and a rare thing.
To have both passion AND balls is what makes someone great.
I miss the great ones
I miss the lovers
and the dreamers/creators
I miss the artists
I miss the tortured souls- the poets…the journeymen …
and I mean the real ones
the real risk takers
the real love makers
the ones that do what they were born to do
unafraid of being who they really are
the ones that live for what they love
and the ones that love to love.
it has nothing to do with image
and everything to do with heart and soul
and pure being
I miss the truth in them
I miss their passion
I miss having them around
I miss them knocking at my bedroom window at 3am
driven by desire
driven by love
and…That feeling –
that wonderful feeling of hope and wonder
and the excitement in life and love
I miss the fire
-kyoko cole 2008