4th Annual Karen Trujillo Poetry Contest, the winning poems, 2025

Best 9th Grade Poem

“Empty Threads” by Arturo Luna

EMPTY THREADS

But even peace feels so distant
When I replay the words that tore us apart.
The house is quiet, but I feel it,
Like the walls are pressing in, but it echoes
Heavy with the weight in my chest.

I still hear the sound of doors slamming,
Mom, sitting still, eyes shut against the storm,
**Her face a porcelain mask, hollow with years of silence that cuts like glass.
Dad’s strides out, jaw tight, eyes swollen tears he’s holding back with every breath.
They said, “It’s not your fault,” but their words can’t thaw the icicle of guilt glued to my chest.
I carry it still—a stone cracks circular in my ribs,
A reminder of everything we’ve lost.

I can’t take another loss,
I’d rath drift than let go,
But maybe this is how it’s meant to be,
A lesson I must learn…
On the other side, it beckons my name,
Where shadows can’t hide what’s true.

And every time I get a message that reads
“Hey bud! Love and miss you I hope you are doing good, have a good day”
it tears through me, ripping me apart—
it seems made of empty threads.
it hurts, more than I will ever let you see

The pictures sit in boxes, untouched,
A family held by ghost hands.
I walk through rooms where we used to laugh,
Now all left are the échos.
How do you mourn something that didn’t die,
But faded into the corners?
A love once warping us now shards on the floor—
was it all my fault?

~~~

9th Grade Honorable Mention 

“Constellations” by  Bellatrix Jimenez

Constellations

LIke the thick sweetness

That dances on your tongue

Evaporate the little words

That bring no greater meaning

To be a poem is to lay awake

Beneath each and every star

To stare and gaze upon them

And only pick the brightest ones

Gather them in your mind

Rearrange them till it seems

Every star aligns

Almost perfectly

Dip your toes in the pool

Of the words you have created

Then every pair of eyes

Sees a different constellation

~~~ 

TIE: Best 10th Grade Poem 

“Touch” by Dia Maria Coronado Manzanares

Touch

Let me touch you,

Not in a carnal way.

I want my touch to be firm,

Let my fingerprints remain on your skin.

No, not like that

I want my caresses to be soft,

Let my touch be permanent.

Let me feel you without your layers,

Let me explore your being.

Let me start again.

I don’t want your body,

I want your touch, your presence.

Give me your essence,

Your fibers, your core.

Of course I want you,

I want your spirit.

Your skin, exposed.

As well as your soul.

I want my words to transcend you,

and my voice to leave echoes in your soul.

~~~

TIE: Best 10th Grade Poem

“Tube Man” by Uyen Dang

Tube Man

Once the wind kicks in

I come to life in sudden spirals,

all bendy limbs and hollow joy-

a soft spectacle for all to see.

Neutral-faced because someone has to

when the rest are curled up in tears.

but at night, the pillow tells truth-

salt-stained and silent,

watermarks where the mask slid off.

I float in pools too long,

letting limbs drift with no resistance,

moving at the whims of fate,

at the mercy of whatever comes next.

The sky forgets the sun sometimes,

dousing the sidewalk in gray-blue slick,

yellow streetlight spilled over it like yolk-

glowing like a lantern in the fog.

I watch it from the bus window,

counting the steps home,

checking the tree leaves like a ritual:

Have they become crunchy yet?

Will I finally make a sound?

Everything once bright bleeds together now-

reds, oranges, hopeful greens blur into mud

on sneakers too old to be clean again.

The perfect green lawns flicker like mirages,

fake comfort in plastic symmetry.

I pass under huge shadows-

guilt, shame, anger,

regret stacked like buildings-

too big to carry,

too familiar, too easy to leave behind.

Sometimes I feel like a fish

pulled from the sea into an aquarium-

all the same movements,

but smaller,

contained.

Somewhere, someone

is wobbling through their first ride without training wheels-

laughing, maybe falling,

but moving forward alas.

I don’t resist the wind anymore.

it lifts me-not gently,

but fully.

and at that, I think I feel a kind of peace.

~~~

TIE: Best 10th Grade Poem

“I Still” by Anton Abalos

I Still

I still kiss

My wrists when

The clocks have four straight ones—

Tap them on

My forehead.

Think of you when I’m done.

I’ll never

Admit that

I miss your quiet smile,

Or that when

You were here,

You were worth all my whiles.

 ~~~

TIE: Best 11th Grade Poem

“Unrestrained Rage” by Charlotte Dennis

“untrained rage.”

a dog is faulted for its scars,

enhanced by years of wear,

enhanced by the jaws of predators

who aimlessly clash with the flesh of the innocent.

the dog will always be condemned as angry,

akin to a daughter,

delicate but berated by the hands of men meant to protect them.

the dog barks, the daughter growls–

words she regrets saying.

the dog’s fangs yearn to break the skin of the feeble.

only anger is illuminated by his great jowls;

red droplets spill but the dog feels no remorse.

left behind by unkind hunters who wield sharp weapons,

magnolias erupt to the dismay of dusty corpses.

ruby pools sparkle beneath his white muzzle.

fireflies swarm at dusk where yellow lights meet an orange glow.

the dog’s jaws now hold the heavy guilt of grief.

he groans for forgiveness, seeking security from an unwilling savior.

angels know better than to seek evil,

and God knows better than to waste time on devils.

painted fingers graze pursed lips,

and matted fur mimics bloodshot eyes.

gentle bruises emerge from the surface of a girl with no name,

a dog with no bark.

~~~

TIE: Best 11th Grade Poem

“Uniformity” by Nayeli Rivera

Uniformity 

I am the scuffed black vegan leather school shoes that are a size too big on me, 

I am the frayed thread on the collar of my blue pin-striped dress, 

I am the sweater I exchanged for a small size. 

My earrings a gauge too large, check the chart- 

My dyed hair, check the chart- 

The hair dye staining the top my ears stops me from listening, check the 

chart- 

(how does my hair color help me hear my history teacher?) 

I am my funky socks snagging against the worn fabric within my track pants, 

I am the sweat in exchange of peace, the blood stuck to the fabric inside my jacket above my arm. 

Like velcro, my scabs sting as I tear my jacket off in the bathroom in defeat of the Australian sun– 

and as quickly as it’s off its back on as I pitter patter awkwardly back to my class. 

I am the scuffed black vegan leather school shoes that are a size too big on me. 

 ~~~

Best 12th Grade Poem

“Devil Incognito” by Angie Campos

Devil Incognito

-after the Young Park Mass Shooting

Boys went from playing with toy cars to guns

Went from the sweet, loving little boy

To a guy no one knew

Went from playing in the playground with homies

To killing one another over bitches, money, or drugs

Was it worth it?

Did you plan it?

Is it worth hurting your mom?

Making her say her son is a murderer?

Do you know that mothers can’t sleep?

Mothers are hurting and grieving

Did you like seeing the blood all over the ground?

Seeing the ground absorb all the blood

Did you like seeing the lifeless body?

Laying there soulless

Can you still see their faces?

Can you hear them yelling for help every night?

Do you like having the devil hiding by your side?

Everyone wants to talk about the people killed

But what about the person behind the gun

The one with the finger twitching on the trigger

Eyes turning into the devil’s eyes

Spreading the devil’s grin

The devil’s horn and tail

Blood rushing through the body

Stomach feels like it’s about to explode

Heart beating 1,000 miles per hour

Breathing uncontrollably

Mind not thinking straight

Thinking, if I get them, my problems would be gone

Your homies are yelling to hurry up and get the job done

Boom — bodies falling, blood gushing out

Stuck in a small cell, just thinking about what I could have done differently

But the devil never comes head-on, the devil comes in sideways

 ~~~

Honorable Mention for 12th Grade

“The Fire?place” by Michael Taylor

The Fire?place

Sitting on the fire? drowning in my chocolate milk

The flowers started spoiling and I couldn’t tell what the smell was

Chicken noodle soup ate my sickness and my book read my mind

I didn’t just hear what you said I consumed it and never forgot it, like a cockroach bystander

helplessly watching me crush his wife and kids with my diary of a wimpy kid coloring book

Whoopsie daisy!

Whoopsie flower! Sat on my Whoopi cushion but nobody believed that sound came from

comedic farts and not my bowels

Bowls of cereal seriously healed the bacterial material in the urinal and I did an Irish jig

Gettin jiggy with my piggy wearing a wiggy and I miss my dog

I guess the reason tennis balls smell so good is because I lost my train of thought

Choo chewing my toy train and in my 3 year old brain I thought I was holding my mom’s hand

and it turned out to be the person my mom was talking to

That’s when I learned what embarrassment was

I guess that’s what I get for closing my eyes

With that pinecone that almost hit me in the head on my mind, I considered that maybe I was

wrong

But who knows, maybe I did say “hammer shot”, but I’m pretty sure I said “glamour shot”

My mind went blank and I threw my 6th grade math textbooks into the fire?place

~~~ 

Honorable Mention for 12th Grade

“Stained Curtains” by Kehler Marlatt

Stained Curtains

Friday. Dad picks me up from school

and the sun has set to pink.

On the way to the performance

I think of how many ways we could have died

if we left 10 seconds earlier.

We find seats stained in blood and vomit.

We sit. That’s a decision.

“Those get you killed”

I told my father.

The magic show starts in the absence of a conclusion

and for 3 hours and 23 minutes women are sawed in half.

Currencies vanish and mutilated rabbits are ripped out of hats.

Orange juice distilled into milk

drips from the illusionist’s lips.

The show naturally crawls to its own endless purgatory

like arms pruning underwater

scraping away at the underside of the surface

reaching out for the Holy Spirit

unable to break through.

A burning rope singes and frays

in every direction.

Just under the ashes hangs the magician

restrained upside down by his feet

in the middle of two sharp jaws equaling 946 pounds of raw steel.

Rope snaps.

The jaws come down from the east and west

slicing his head into a grain

crumbling off the body of Christ

leaving everyone to dangle

in the liminal waiting room of a trick gone wrong.

His last thought:

“Et Voilà. Thank you seems so insignificant

to explain the gratitude I feel

for you always believing in me.”

He looks up to his body pendulating

9 feet in the air

splattering blood into his nose

and onto our glasses

dampening the shallow depressions

in the black hardwood floor

layered hundreds of times in alternating

red and black paint inches thick

like a torn checker board

folded over itself

between the trick

and the resurrection.

3 hours have passed.

He’s striking the set

in the empty theatre

smearing black paint onto his blood.

 ~~~

BEST IN SHOW

“Severed Wounds” by Dayana Medina-Ramirez

Severed Wounds

One day, I will find the courage

to display my wounds,

to sever pain from scar.

The kind born

from injury without apparent reason,

a blade I begged to speak for me,

a slice that manifests

in raised skin or darkened tones.

Let me feel

the tenderness of my own flesh,

the aching pressure

to stop the bleeding.

And maybe then,

beneath the gauze of melancholy,

I will name the sting

not as weakness,

but as survival.

And let each mark

become a map,

guiding me back

to the body I tried

so hard to leave.

__________

judges names:

Joseph Somoza       

Dina Honeycutt        

Delilah Garcia