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 Apr 2022 Kora Sani
pôr do sol
Don't speak harshly,
Your words will form swords in me

Touch my cheek; speak gently,
And they will form worlds in me
 Jun 2019 Kora Sani
A
Under Pressure
 Jun 2019 Kora Sani
A
I can’t decide
if I’m comforted by the fact
that every thought  
I’ve ever had
has probably been had
before

And I don’t know
which is worse
That we are, perhaps
incredibly,
undeniably
not special at all
Or that we incredibly,
undeniably
are
June 21, 2019
 Jun 2019 Kora Sani
scully
I want to write about what hurts because I think it will
Stop me from hurting. If I put these words on
A page then they will be easier to digest.
Poetry isn't curative by creation, it is
Just confession. Still, these remedial
Lines are what I turn to when I am holding
Too much in my hands. Right now, I feel
Like I am overflowing onto the ground below me.
For the first time,
I don't want to write about what hurts. I want
To keep it inside of me and let it burn me. I want
To carry it in my palms for as long as I can.
I should write
About how we've said goodbye so
Many times that it turned into a threat, a weapon
We made with our tongues.
I should write
About how I lied and got away with it,
How you got caught with
Your hands tied and no one to blame.
I should write
About how it was over before we waved the white
Flag, and I know what it means now
To hold onto a sinking ship.
I've never had anything to die for.
I should write about how I've never wanted
Something so much that I devastated it completely.
We loved in harsh conditions, under sun and darkness and
I don't know how to write about how
The love didn't save us.
I don't write about letting go as much as I write about
Holding on, and I want
That to change.
I don't want to write hurt just to feel it.
The next poem I write about you will be
About me. About how I held on and how I let go.
It won't be about your love, it will be about
Mine. It won't stop me from hurting, but
It is how I make it out
Of my love alive.
`
Dear Winter, you're leaving, and oh, how my heart hurts.
I panic as the balm of your dormancy
gives way to Spring's exuberant insistence on growth.
After Spring, Summer will saunter in
with her interminably long twilights and
loud cicada choirs.
Oh Winter, won't you transfix me again
with one of your powerful deep freezes ... or a silent snow shower ... or a glint of sun-kissed ice?
Cast once more your concealing blanket of snow and frost across the land ... blemishes be gone.
Indeed, as you fade away, I long for your return.
As you approach afresh, how my soul rejoices!
That first pure white winter flake of snow.
And then more, more, more … each one unique they say.
When you're around, my mind feels at peace
as I stroll down snow-covered streets and woody paths.
There's always a hint of magic mystery in the air,
secrets hanging amidst the ice-covered branches.
I marvel with a sense of wonder at what you'll reveal next:
a woodpecker working on a hollow tree,
a flash of cardinal red,
a twinkling ice droplet catching a sunbeam.
When you light up a lot of them, way up in the tree tops,
oh how they sparkle, an array of dazzling diamonds far finer than any man-made décor.
And what fun it is when you reveal the paw prints
of so many passers-by,
their curious patterns in the night and wee hours,
secret stories witnessed only by you.
Ah Winter, if I were a composer and the seasons a song,
I'd give spring and summer staccato quarters
to fall I'd give a half
but to you, Winter, a sustained whole.
If I were a snowbird, I'd follow you south ...
to a chilly Chilean climb or a frosty Australian hinterland.
But alas for now, my wings can't carry me that far.
And so I must wait patiently, intently, for your return,
watching for the signs, longing for the soothing forgiveness of your freezing temperatures,
the purifying baptism of that first arctic blast.
Though I may admire Spring's glory or bask in Summer's bright rays, rest assured they are passing fancies.
Even Fall, with his brilliant leaves and brisk breezes, is still a distant second to you.
These three are merely my constant companions until you return.
And so auf wiedersehen my dear Winter, my love.
I'll hold you in my memory until we are together again.
I started writing this poem on March 20, 2018, a comfortingly dreary first day of spring with a forecast for snow.
Dry
.
It
is
true,
you are
totally right.
I'm as dry as
a desert, I'm a dead
empty land. I used to be
a  jungle  when  the  clouds
where by my side, and now that
they are gone, my trees, my dreams
they dried and died. Because of this,
nothing grows inside of me, there is
only silence and despair. I can't feel
what  I  write,  I  barely  feel alive
I want to feel human again
Oh god, I really miss
the rain
Es frustrante tener  las palabras pero no el tiempo y luego tener el tiempo y no recordar las palabras
 Nov 2018 Kora Sani
Emma
Judging
 Nov 2018 Kora Sani
Emma
People are too quick to judge,
Saying that you’re just too lazy.
You avoid people because you don’t want to do anything.
You panic because you make things into
A big deal.
You’re not really as depressed as you say you are,
Or else you’d already be dead.
 Nov 2018 Kora Sani
Alexis
what doesn't **** me
makes me really wish it did
 Oct 2018 Kora Sani
celesti
i wrote you
a letter every day
letters to tell you
just how i feel

written in neat, curved
writing i told you
just how sweet
i thought you were
how you made my heart
glow

letters in which i wrote
with various colors of ink
pouring out my whole being
to you

i wrote you
a letter every day.

i wrote you letters in which
i told you how you made me
bloom.

eventually
i found myself
pressing harder on
the paper
than i had before.

creating tears in them
similar in shape
and size
as the ones
inside of me.

i began to send
letters
with creases
and bumps
and stains
splattered with tears

pouring
from my eyes

as i wrote
the anger
bubbling within me.

my last letter
addressed to you
contained
no words

but was blank.
because
i had none that

could reach
as far

and deep

into the cracks
of my
heart

to describe
just
what you

had left
of me.
a draft i decided to finish because it took a totally different turn than originally intended.
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