Students - Second Place Poetry

by Angela Finneran

Now, when I sleep at night
I’m awakened by their beady eyes.
Those eyes that question me
            Why, why.
And judge the core of my soul,
each time I walk—
           Through.
                      That.
                                   Door.

Those eyes that sigh and yawn
Excite, and fright.
Those eyes that hug me,
            and give me the finger.

Those eyes attached to that
            Short, Repulsive Figure.

They demand that I deliver
            My beating heart on a plate of
            Mac and Cheese

Those beady eyes.
That crave love and praise;
That may or may not succeed
            Because of me…

When I am desperate to rest,
I can’t.
And never will again.

—Those beady eyes
that possess my dreams,
Growing and defected by the
            spectrum of my sins.