Claudia Emerson Teen Poetry Contest

the room is breathing without me
walls ticking like a clock
that forgot what it was counting
everything sounds far away
even my own thoughts
drag their feet when they move
my chest hurts
not sharp
just heavy
like someone left a hand there
and never took it back
put me back together again
i am coming apart quietly
the worst way
no one hears it
but i do
it sounds like fabric tearing
very slowly
thread by thread
inside my ribs
my hands won’t stay still
they keep searching for proof
that I am solid
that I don’t pass straight through things
touch feels delayed
like my skin
has to remember
how to respond
i miss myself
the way you miss a house
after it burns
even though you know
it’s gone
put me back together again
or lie to me well
tell me this weight
has a purpose
tell me the dark
isn’t permanent
it’s just leaning in close
to listen
i am so tired
of carrying my name
like something fragile
wrapped in apologies
if i break tonight
it won’t be loud
it will be a soft collapse
a slow sinking
into the sound of my own breathing
please
if there is a way back
let it hurt less than this

My Lola calls
The wind weaves itself into her voice
In the distance, I can hear the roosters crowing
In the distance I can hear her radio turned up just enough to fill the room so she doesn’t feel alone
I hear her smile and laugh
“No te olvides de donde vienes mi niña” she says,
“Don’t forget where you came from my little girl”
She says my little girl as if I’m still small enough for her to hold me in her arms
She says it like pride is fragile
Like it could slip through my fingers, if I don’t hold it tight enough
I didn’t grow up perfect
I grew up with rice steaming up into the air,
Coconut milk cooling in the fridge
Mangos sliced open on thin paper plates, the sweetness of them clinging to my hands as I savor each bite
I grew up kneeling, tracing the sign of the cross over my chest like I was mapping myself
Reciting prayers before I ever understood what doubt tasted like
Church taught me reverence.
Society taught me silence.
Culture taught me to smile politely and to keep my fire buried deep down
I am proud of skin kissed by two suns
El Salvador glows in me like heat rising from stone,
The Philippines blossoms in me like a sail catching monsoon wind
From places that survived colonizers, storm, heartbreak, and still reach for light
But lately the air feels heavy
I see families torn apart like pages torn from a book
Children gripping their parents, as if holding on could keep them together
Immigrants losing their lives, People who support immigrants also losing their lives
People being sent back as if crossing an ocean, rivers, deserts, borders, heat, endless hours of walking, didn’t cost them anything
And it scares me
My heart feels an awful amount of sorrow because those are my people
The same people who fought wars
The same people who grow, harvest, and make the food we all eat on a daily basis
The same people who build our homes that we are lucky to have that some of them don’t
The same people that are our friends
The same people who were our ancestors
In the end, people.
Sometimes I feel small like sand slipping through my hands
But then I hear my Lola laugh
And then I remember
“The only thing that is more powerful than hate, is love”
And it lives in us.
In the songs we sing, the meals we share, the islands we carry inside
Pride is soft
Pride is keeping home close, even when the world feels heavy, even as we grow.

Buried deep in his backyard
A fallen angel’s butterfly
From heaven’s gates the insect barred
And the boy had watched it die

A fallen angel’s butterfly
Fallen from the clouds above
And the boy had watched it die
That day he learned a loss of love

Fallen from the clouds above
Now nestled deep within the dirt
That day he learned a loss of love
That day he learned a gain of hurt

Now nestled deep within the dirt
From heaven’s gates the insect barred
That day he learned a gain of hurt
Buried deep in his backyard

The morning had been sentient.
With the warmth of the sun, and a fall breeze.

An old rusted man held a watering can,
and he tended to his flowers,
rows of precious marigolds.

These vibrant marigolds stood out in a neighborhood
that rested on the outskirts of the city.

The flowers contrasted with the others,
the pinkish reds
the whitest whites
and the blueish blues.

The man’s greeting revealed a great thickness of his voice,
smooth and deep like cider.

His home had a particular essence,
with scent from lighted incense,
along with a bottle of saffron in the kitchen,
and the lingering taste of turmeric spice.

A vibrant orange
A thick accent
A strong smell

In a neighborhood with everyone,
but still by himself.

Disappearing
slowly
gradually
you don’t notice that I’m
crying
weeping and
because you’re too busy
building
expanding your terrain
my terrain
using
chainsaws
with your
ignorance
blissful
abundant
you’re clueless
to how
you’re oblivious
To me

They never said be perfect out loud,
But I learned quick what silence meant.
A longer look, a higher bar,
And “good job” never felt like enough intent.

I was the girl they counted on,
The one who never came up short,
The steady hands, the fastest run,
The proof of effort they would report.

On polished courts and painted lines,
I wore the pressure like it was mine,
Each whistle, grade, each watching glance
Quietly redrew every line.

In classrooms lined with sharpened dreams,
My pencil raced, my answers clean,
But every A just moved the goal,
Success became what I had to mean.

And somewhere in those rising bars,
I stopped asking what I need,
I only asked if I was close
To being everything they’d see.

I learned to measure every breath,
To calculate each step I’d take,
To turn my worth into a score,
And fear the smallest kind of mistake.

I wasn’t just the girl who tried,
I became the pressure, tight and still,
A voice inside that never slept,
A weight I learned to quietly fulfill.

I became a scoreboard in my mind
That never once would let me rest,
Where even peace felt like falling short,
And “almost” never passed the test.

I ran, but not for love of speed,
I played, but not for love of the game,
I moved like I was being watched,
Like every breath had to earn my name.

And when I slowed, the silence hit
Louder than any crowd could be,
Because without that constant push,
What version of me was left to see?

I wasn’t carrying success.
I carried fear dressed up as drive,
The kind that cheers when you don’t break
But punishes you when you’re alive.

I thought if I just held it tight,
If I achieved, if I obeyed,
I’d finally feel like I was enough,
But “enough” kept getting delayed.

But pressure doesn’t build a life,
It builds a cage you learn to name,
Where every win still feels too small,
And the rest still feels like losing the game.

So I started loosening my grip,
Letting pieces of it fall,
Learning I wasn’t made to hold
Every expectation after all.

Now I still run, and still I rise,
But not to prove what I have been.
I move because I choose to move,
Not just to stay within their win.

I am not numbers on a page,
I am not just a time,
I am not just a grade,
I am not just a role.

I am the girl beneath it all
Who stopped surviving and chose her soul.

Because I was never meant to carry
Every expectation I’ve known.
I was never meant to be the weight…

I was the one it turned into a home.

My name is Adrian Alejandro Hernandez Tapia
The name my mother gave me
To be proud of
To be loud of
--
I am a person of color
They just see me as a bother
Dirty, loud, rough
But inside, I’m enough to live
--
The truth is my family strives, full of color
You are too, just like your ancestors
If you only realized, that is America
America exists because of color too
--
The twist is, if we have not been here
It wouldn’t stand tall
It wouldn’t sound the same
It couldn’t dare to be proud
--
Immigrants are just trying to live by
We give our pride, culture, ourselves.
In return, we are spied on, we are ruptured, we are torn
We used to live by
Now it’s try to survive.
–

Freedom wasn’t owed to you, It was for all
You slowed us down
To make us small
But, we won’t let that befall us
--
I despise seeing my people being taken away
To be portrayed as cruel humans
We don’t prey, we are trying to pray
You make America “Great”
--
You’ll realize America is built by us
Remnants of color, we are the descendants of America
We are history, the color, the pride of America.
We, Too, are America
--
I am Adrian Alejandro Hernandez Tapia
I am proud to be of color
I am loud to be me
I, Too, am America.

I want to know how many adventures I’ve been on / how many hours I spend away from a screen / how many counties I visit / I want to know how many times I’ve felt an adrenaline rush / how many times my stomach has left my body / how many roller coasters I ride / how many times I skydive / bungee jump / water ski / paraglide / rock climb / cliff jump / how many times I sail / scuba dive / snorkel / I want to know how many animals I encounter / how many fish / birds / butterflies / I want to know how many people I meet / how many friends I make / how many stories I learn / how many books I read / how many songs I sing / how many languages I hear / I want to know how much I am thankful / how often I express it / I want to know how many people I smile at / how many smile back / how many people I complement / how often it is reciprocated / how many people I am kind to / how many times has that kindness made a difference / how many people give me hope / how much hope I give to others / how many people I influence / how many minds I change / how many people I help / I want to know how much I change the world.