KarMel Scholarship 2005
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Runner Up – Written Category “Buzz --” By
Angel Ochoa - IL |
Desciption of Submission: “It is a poem about two gay men. They hold onto their relationship as much as
they can amid societal discrimination.
The socity is represented by feet and figuratively affect the two
men. The poem ends in the separation of
the two men. However, their love for
each other never dies within their memories. “ - Angel
Biography: Angel will be a sophomore attending
Why Karen and Melody Liked
It: This was a very well
written poem. It was very descriptive in
the two men’s relationship and the affects of society.
Did you enjoy reading this poem?
Then feel free to send a message to Angel at: angel@uchicago.edu
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I can feel my
arms breaking My forearms
reaching for help; A cry of despair
and a longing For a stable
connection---
to you. My arms, my
fingers, grasping grasping---
for you. Sweat and dirt,
mud. Muddy fingers
slipping--- from
you. A mix of hatred
and anger from their soiled feet. They stomp stomp
stomp the ground beneath them Unitl it breaks,
until their prejudices break me---
from you. My arms. I can
feel my shoulders pulled forward While your
fingers tug mine---
toward you. My fingers are
bleeding; crushed and mangled. But they still
hold on, they still fight for justice. They fight--- for
you. Slipping.
Slipping. My fingers are slipping. My blood. A
spilled innocence. Me. They won't let me. They see my
manly fingers, potential seeds for the womb, As blasphemy to
be--- with you. My battered
knuckles are straining. My muscles are stretching. My veins are a
pool of sorrow, And my heart, my
heart; Pumping,
begging, my pleas of belonging To them and
me--- to you. My heart feels
your inner drums inside And they are
beating. Beating. Beating... They drum
through my flesh, my fleshy knuckles- And resonate our
memories through the dark waters Streaming from
my hands; a familiar dark red. It is painful.
It hurts to be---
with you. And my eyes. I
can't see. They are clouded. Blind. Blinded
by their kicking feet, Engraving
granules of jaded rocks, Of a jaded
sentimentality. I have sand
digging into my pupils, Digging with
it's narrowed illusions; Illusions of man
and woman. Not me---
and you. Spinning
together with my eyes closed, I can see the
static images Of my fingers
imprinted behind my eye lids, Of my fingers
buzzing in this itching darkness Surrounding my
eyes. Buzz. My fingers are
splitting--- from you. Spinning
together. Spinning. I can feel your
fingers holding onto mine. Strong. Tense.
Manly; A course grip of
fear. You are not
letting go--- of me. Your fingers are
almost impervious to their feet. Your nails
scrape at their skinless soles, At their
prejudices against you---
and me. Against you and
me. Against you and
me. But there are so
many of them. So many toes
sanding my eyes with scratches. So many heels
grinding our fingers to bony grips. So many. Buzz--- A soft crack;
splintered agony. Our fingers
split. I am on the
floor. Buzz--- Silence; an echo
of my heart screaming. Buzz--- My veins are
dangling. My life is running from the persecutors. It pours out
through my shattered veins, Into the black
mud all around my body. Buzz--- All around me I
see a white shadow behind my failed eyes. It is wrapping
itself with my memories. My memories of
you. Buzz--- It is you. It is
you. You are still
holding on to me, to our memories of us. Buzz--- I can feel you
across the miles of my fallen body. Muddy. Almost
physical; like there was no separation. Spiritual. I can
feel you right beside me. Buzz--- We are still
holding. Together. In our
minds. |
Did you enjoy reading this poem?
Then feel free to send a message to Angel at: angel@uchicago.edu