By: Olivia Reyna
December
Every December I see your warm face
Hoping that the details lost will appear once again
But as each year passes
I am scarred in regret
Of the December you went astray
On a night that sang with a breeze that tortures a Texan like me
Never have I met someone
So scorching
Each note harmonized with mine
I created the tempo
And you waltzed with triplets
All others are nothing
Truly nothing for the zenith I once had
You were just a silly face in a hat that reminded me of home
A face I enjoyed teasing
A face that made my veins tangle into a bunch
For all the tunes we debated
There is one melody I can't bury away
A major melody that comforts the minor clouds away
If life favors me once more
I know I'll see a silly Illinois face in a hat much too familiar
The Fisherman
The fisherman was young and dumb
Went off to sea with much aspirations
But only left with a sense of regret
It wasn't always like this
The fisherman was going visit every pore of the world
Not one distance would be too much for the fisherman
While the fisherman does go out and look at the sea every morning
One morning was so spectacular it deserved the rich bitter taste of enchanting grapes
While the taste was bitter and rich
It was more enchanting than anything
Which would have been fine on any other day but
The fanciful sight was the calm before the waves started to dance
The winds decided to play its tunes
And eventually the wind and the waves started to do a devilish tango
A tango that would would leave the fisherman in a hellish storm for so long
That he gives up on keeping up with time
His days used to consist of catches worth savoring
But now the waves are too strong for any fish to keep up with
If the companion of the water can't even keep up with this part of the sea,
how dare he?
Every day he would try and steer the boat aright
But his efforts never made his plans come to fruition
With such days like these
What is left?
Sorrow, frustration and a hellish purgatory?
The fisherman was soon having thoughts of also too being a companion of the sea but he suddenly sensed this type of warmth
With such agonizing cold, wet days
To feel such warmth …
Am I dead?
Is this finally over?
I guess I could make peace with that
It's kind of ironic
I have always been the catcher of the sea
But now it seems the sea has caught me
Isn't tha-
Through the horrid clouds and the thrashing waves, he sees a warm girl
With such sweet, warm, and pure eyes
Are you a doe?
Blood automatically rushes to his face
He believes that an angel would be a more appropriate word but for some reason the word doe seems like the only fitting word
She just smiles ear to ear with the softest, gummy smile
A smile that the fisherman felt guilty about seeing
Because how could a fisherman like him dare to see such brilliance
As she smiles, she lets him lay in her lap til he closes his eyes
…
He starts to feel the senses in his body turn back on, and also notices the warmth never left
Is the doe still here?
As he lets his eyes open, he does not see her but notices he is on a beach
He automatically becomes frantic
How was he once at purgatory and now letting the sun kiss him?
He could only think of the doe
She must be my savior
The second he believes that he runs all over for her but he will never find her
He eventually lays down to rest
If only I could know her name
The name of such a beautiful woman
The warmest woman
A woman that resembles a doe
While he was never told her name,
a name starts ringing through his ears
Janay
Her name must be Janay
Janay, the warrior and calm of the sea
Two Seeds
Two seeds lay in the soil
one of a Buttercup
And another of a pink Azalea
Both growing and grasping to be complete
The Buttercup wants to be the best
Its ancestors were strong and were never wavering for less
The Buttercup wanted to be just like them
The Buttercup wanted to consume a lot of water so it would be the strongest and most powerful
It had plenty of water
But that wasn't enough
It needed more
So anytime it felt a root around it
It would the tear the roots out
Break them, and terrorize them
Making sure nothing but itself would get water so it would be the strongest
The Azalea was quite different
The Azalea wanted to be humble
It's ancestors always tried to give back, and be complete in knowing that the flowers around it were strong and bright
So the Azalea tried to be small, and grabbing only the water it needed
Anytime the Azalea saw another root, it would try and become even smaller
Both the Buttercup and pink Azalea now have their stems
They are now trying to have strong buds
The Buttercup has a strong desire
It can't overcome it so when the sun comes out
it has to be the tallest and it has to be the only one that the sun can see
If there was another flower beside, it can't help but break it's stem
The Azalea on the other hand can't help but cower
Even if there are no flowers beside it
It acts like it has a hunch back
The Buttercup now is in full bloom
It now is believed to be the best
It believes that it truly is the most fragrant and magnificent until one night
The moon was truly glowing
And unfortunately the Buttercup saw a flower that looked so delicate yet so beautiful
It couldn't help but but be jealous and infuriated
When it went closer to the pink Azalea, the pink Azalea thought it saw something so sturdy and bewitching
The Azalea wanted nothing more than to be friends with such a lovely flower
The Buttercup didn't have such thoughts
When the sun came up at once, the pink Azalea thought to give a piece of its pedal as a gift
But when it gave it to the Buttercup , it ripped up the pedal at once
The Azalea was heart broken
So the Azalea went next to river to think
Maybe the Buttercup wasn't in a great mood
Maybe the Azalea was too pushy
So the Azalea thought to give the Buttercup some space
As night came the Buttercup was upset
How can something be beautiful but weak
The Buttercup thought that the Azalea was weak for showing such giving
The Buttercup decided to go to the river
When it saw the Azalea it didn't know what to do
But before the Buttercup could do anything the Azalea asked
"Do you want to lay near the river?"
Then the Buttercup said
"I will lay, if I want"
The Buttercup would come days after that
Laying right near the azalea
When the Azalea seemed to be so delicate, all of the Buttercup s impure intentions seemed to go away
It would seem to be a good match
Because the Azalea would try to be as small as possible, and the Buttercup would try to spread its roots to be as big as possible
The mood seemed to have turned bright until one night
one night, there came a disease
No one knew how it came but it came and it was strong
While the Buttercup was fine, the Azalea was everything but
While the Azalea always tried to be small in consideration of other flowers, and always trying to be humble
Its roots started to grasp for more water
So its roots started to spread a little farther
There was enough water
But the Buttercup couldn't handle it
The needing to be the one in power, and the needing to be the best was too great
The Azalea gave the Buttercup another piece of its pedal but this time it was extremely fragile and seemed very withered
While the Azalea didn't know anything, the Azalea seemed to be forgiving
If the Buttercup cup wanted to anything,it needed to do it now
The Buttercup broke the Azalea's stem
Everything bright and delicate seemed to be done in this lifetime
The Buttercup didn't falter
It stood upright as if it did no wrong
As if it didn't take the light from the world
As the next day came, the Buttercup treated it like the day before was never there
Another Quiver
The push in your voice
You screaming in pain but keep the words flowing
It takes everything in me to not scream "Stop"
Because I can't take it no more
If I hear another quiver
No amount drains would be able to contain
The streams that would thrash
And the seas that would cry from
The influx of rips and shreds
From its very foundation
That was meant to never waver
Only able to silence the ripples
By knowing it would only make more quivers and lasting cinders
Life blooms daffodils and sparks the pedals into the morning sun, cultivates the chirps of soft spoken parakeets, soothes the summer with splashes swimming through the land
But even more, life is full of spontaneity
Even if you ask for it or not
It could cool your wounds or just completely grab the tiniest needle and start peeling back up your scabs
That were finally a nice pale pink
No sight of what is you or the dirt we step on
What is life built out of?
Is it greatness, or just complex breathing?
"We think, therefore we are"
Or do we just simply think too much, and create meaning out of the leaves that spin out of cycle, the stars that happen to perfectly align, the numbers that just seem bound to be around
They don't mean anything of importance, but beings are so insecure, and live with a paradox of choices
That nothing suddenly has to mean something in your world of just complex inhaling
I can hardly see the morning dew, the deers galloping, the fish skipping, the stems inching, or the leaves swaying
Because all I hear is life grasping for oxygen that will never meet
What is there to see, when beauty is whimpering, clawing, raking, and woefully hoping?
The bloom never came
It never seized its sight
Not even a breath
And too many quivers
To be
Is our eyes of the same cloth
Do our stars make constellations
Can our sediments make rocks
If our twigs yearn to be
Will there be branches?
Thousands of leaves
With thousands of thoughts
Will one even wither for …
Wither for me?
If not, let me be
Not of resemblance
Of the moon that laces light with the sun
Or
The nodes that fade into ashes for the stout stem
Let me be
Of the essence of a phoenix
A phoenix without its redemption
A phoenix with an end