I think of the Mountain where my fantasies began,
the falling snow and light clouds float above me,
the great creatures I see and listen intently to.

The path I create up this great void is the path which has been chosen for me. A dead end maybe, but a path none the least.

I hear the birds sing their songs of grace and I hear the hoarse voices of sheep pass by me.
All I see is blue.
Blue sky, the sun hurts my eyes so I look away, a common habit, for I know the pain is not real. It is only an illusion of my past life.
The path I have carved,
the creatures I have had to face, listen to and speak to are all I hear now.
Silence. Darkness falls now. My heart sighs for I know that this Darkness will be forever, never to see the light of the sun again. Darkness. Relief. Finally.

Death.

Grey clouds frown
Hands move past three
Papers shuffle and faces yawn
Coffee cups have an empty echo
Bored poets will browse discreetly
I want to write
Here I am

A spring like afternoon.
So,
I walked my thoughts
in the sun

and picked
here and there
a glance
of other-selves

(the ripest ones
decaying in fallen
houses, the left overs
of bygones and forget-me-nots).

Filled myself
in reddish and bluish,
a euphoric sight flying.
Then, my doorstep.

At one point
in my life
you were
the only
one I truly
trusted but,
now you are
the last one
I would ever
trust or even
utter a single
word to.

Dear 2015,
You took a lot out of me. Yet in the midst of anxiety attacks and standardized testing, I found myself.
It happened in the middle seats of crowed airplanes, in the lines of literature, and on the cloudy beaches of Santa Cruz.
I found myself crying in the arms of my mother, and I even found myself crawling out of the closet, but still trying to hid behind last year’s raincoat.
Oh 2015, the year of losing and gaining friends, hope, and happiness. I’ll miss your melancholy filled mornings and sleepless nights, but that seed that you planted in our garden in my front yard will bloom because after all, 2016 is the year of El Nino.
And I know that the rain has yet to come.

Tanned bodies
Scorched faces
In the Pacific Sun
In search of a palm shade
A balm for our bodies

On a tandem
At 60-miles-an-hour
Against the Tropical cyclone
Whipping our faces
In search of a palm haven
A balm for our weary soul

Here we found
A shelter
In the times of El Nino and cyclone
A haven of rest
Safe and secure
Warm and filled
From the meat and juice
Of the coconut palm trees