Black, white, brown, silver, blue, red;
by Brian (Yaotzu) Bungcayao
They all pass me by as I sit on the tail gate of my fathers pickup truck.
I stare at the road aimlessly thinking of which way to run
as the mountains call out my name in a passing breeze.
I await my first true step over the crease on the concrete
that separates the driveway from the side walk I was told to fear.
The world mocks me as it passes only inches from my face
as on goers laugh at my dreams through their corneas.
Conveying false realities through their confined community.
The Lelas smile at me as if this was the only place I could exist.
The Manongs pass around their bottles in an endless cycle to
deny the reality of comfort and curse.
But I peer through the cloak of happiness
and see through the boundaries of societal solitude.
Walking down the roads where everybody knows your name
awakens the truth a father hides from his son.
These roads do not define the path of exsistance,
for I dream to fly past the clutches of gavity
and glide upon a piece land i cand truly call my own.