always sitting beside the window
so that no one would know
what my eyes hide
during the ridemusic in my ears, the bus suddenly go forward
look at that
my hometown where my giggles were trapped
is getting smaller from my sight
my hand clutches my bag so tight
fighting the tears, run away, run away
during the ride, a funny thought cameDid my brother who was also once Eighteen, flew to Manila alone
embraces this estrange sadness that makes you shiver down the bone?
Ah, shivering because there's also this frightening thought
of not coming home anymore, bringing only yourself you loathor when my father, also rode the bus, from an early age to fight with the civilization
he hustled and hustled, with big ambition
did he never have the ache to embrace my lolo before building his muscles
that needs for the bargain of his work...
did he never shed tears, begged, to let him lurked
give him the money, fly him to Rome!
and search for his missing home?or once when my mother, also Seventeen
met her far away family and stayed, tolerated every grief
Oh my mom beside me, how have you been?
with little education, she sought her way out
forces her to grow
cause no one would stop to wait, nor greet helloI just realized, it's not just me who flew away from home
my family who I considered as this bed I ran away when everything is a doom
also have been
always have been
experiencing every pain
of not seeing the love of their life
what I was frightened to experience, the lost of my parents, the missing piece of sibling
gone
they have been already
so who am I to affirm I am alone
if this pain that I own
I share with them full blownscars, now I see in them
hug the adults
as they consider it a gemnow let the bus go on, move forward
my little tears are showing onwards
Cause the day I would come back
I would greet them with a smile, even though I still lack
their loud mouth may nag
but I'll embrace them tight
better than this bag
YOU ARE READING
One Hundred Fifty
RandomFifty, Fifty, Fifty A writing challenge for myself is to create fifty poems, fifty essays, and fifty one-shot stories, every single prekeng day to make it a hundred and fifty days of honing my skills and giving sparks to my interest. Here's the deal...