The Wonders of the World

By Richard Vasquez

I come from where the real turns fake. The feeling when someone takes your pride rips it up, and stomps on it when you lose your inside the one by your side, the feeling when you never cry. But when you’re young in The Bronx, you’re never going to know when it’s time to fly. You feel stuck- like you’ll never get up, wondering how the world spins. When there is all this treachery in this world? Maybe somewhere in the endless solar system, I can find some place to call home. But we really never know where home is. It could be the corner, It could be the place in your heart where it is hot and warm, It could be a Christmas song you hear once a year, It could be in your room, alone, unbothered. But when it comes to home, it can be hard, hard like a bulldozer crashing into a building, hard like a baseball flying at 150 MPH. Once you leave the jungle, you’ll be amazed with a new world, A new world that can teach you the wonders of the world. But with new always comes old. The old memories of the block where you chill with your crew, Even if you have nothing to do, the new world is beautiful, So beautiful it can lead you to danger, So beautiful it can blind you, So beautiful it can take your home away. But never forget where you originated.

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