Long Beach's Youth Poet Laureate Ezequiel recites "My Ballad"

Duration: 5:10 571 transcript words EN summary

Video summary

Ezequiel Korea, a seventeen-year-old senior from Long Beach High School, presents his poem "My Ballad" as a powerful declaration of identity rooted in the Mexican-American experience. The piece opens with an epigraph by Freda Kalo that establishes Ezequiel's stance: he is both the creator and the subject of his own narrative, drawing inspiration directly from his heritage rather than external validation. He describes his name not just as words but as a musical expression where vowels sway to mariachi rhythms and consonants ring like traditional Mexican instruments at dawn, setting a tone that blends linguistic pride with cultural celebration. The poem vividly explores the duality of living between two worlds through rich sensory imagery and metaphors involving language and movement. Ezequiel portrays his bilingual existence as a hybrid state where English acts as a quiet river while Spanish roars like a storm, creating a unique cadence in his speech that feels natural rather than forced. He connects this linguistic duality to physical sensations, such as the rolling R sounds of Spanish against the sharp consonants of English, and extends these metaphors to dance, sneakers scraping pavement, and sliding sandals on dirt, illustrating how he navigates spaces ranging from whispered faiths in Oaxaca to graffiti-covered subway walls. Central themes of migration, resilience, and community run through the verses as Ezequiel defines himself by tangible elements like sizzling tacos, simmering rice, Sunday mass, and protest chants that fill the streets. He rejects narrow definitions of belonging when asked where he fits in, answering with open arms to include everywhere from his ancestral home to unfamiliar shores where new flags are planted. His heritage is described as a kaleidoscope containing ancient ruins pulsing through his veins and ancestors' hands whispering guidance on his shoulder, emphasizing that survival and sacrifice have woven an untold history into vibrant threads of prayer and promise. Ultimately, the poem concludes with a defiant affirmation that being Latino means belonging to a story still in progress, written in bold ink as diverse as the people it represents. Ezequiel asserts that he does not need to question his loyalty because his identity is inherently complete, standing firm with feet planted in two worlds while beating like a drum. He ends by declaring that their collective history cannot be silenced and that they are everything all at once, singing out in every language as the final testament of an unbreakable spirit walking through life with its own distinct rhythm.

Read the full video transcript

Hi, my name is Ezekiel Korea. I'm 17 years old and I'm a senior at McBride High School from Long Beach, California. This is my poem called My Ballad featuring an epigraph from Freda Kalo. It reads, "I am my own muse. I am the subject I know best, the subject I want to know better. I am my name. Each syllable unfolding, rich, regal, a song spilled from a land where tongues are not merely spoken, but danced. Where vowels sway in mariachi's rhythm, where consonants ring like das capacito at dawn. My skin the color of storytelling. Sunlit maze darkened earth after summer's touch. A tapestry of ancestors, those who swed fields with dreams and cities with sweat. Their bassels carved deep into soil. From pblos that whisper in nawat to streets that hum with horns and human hustle. Historian, a bridge stretched tight from halisco to the pulse of the LBC. Held up by two tongues. English like a quiet a royo. Spanish. A roaring storm. I speak in hybrid sentences. Two tongues twisted like lovers beneath Spanish tile. The R rolls like a drum in my throat while English presses sharply. Cent at my lips and ears. A constant reminder that I remain still at home in two worlds. Worlds that Hamas stand still. There's music in the way that I move. Rhythm born from kumbia and city beats. Sneakers scraping pavement. Wadaches sliding across dirt. I dance between worlds. Between Ovena's whispered faith and dreams sprayed on subway walls. A romance sung by sailors and dreamers who dare. I am that hovven sun and migration is wrapped in tamal leaves. Futures written in the margins of textbooks. And when they ask me where I belong, I answer, arms open wide, here, there, anywhere myself is free to be and always will be. I am the sizzle of tacos on food trucks, the scent of rioles simmering in the home's heart. I am Sunday mass in whitewashed elesacas and the protest chants that fill the streets. I am familia, thick as mole and twice as sweet. But I'm also ambition, sharpened by trials, running alongside those who dare to show themselves, who say no. Gracias at family gatherings who plant their red, white, and green flags on unfamiliar shores. Eagles perched on cacti. I am therefore I need not think to be loy. My heritage is a kaleidoscope. Mishika ruins pulse in my veins. Crossings in my breath. Each ancestors hand heavy upon my shoulder whispering seeante. My untold history is spun in vibrant threads embroidered in sacrifice survival. Every stitch of prayer, every tear of promise, we rise even when the world weighs us down. I hold my head high, my cadence rooted in rebellion. That to be Latino is to belong to a story that's still being written. Ren in ink that's bold, eloquent, diverse as the people it holds. Brown as the soil that feeds the earth's crops. Bright as the flags that wave in streets of oppression. Bold as the accents that roll our names from tongues. I walk through this world with a rhythm all my own. Feet planted firm in two worlds. Heart beating like a drum. And with every step I take, I am reminded we are not one thing. We are everything all at once. Our story is sung in every language. and I cannot be silenced. Thank you.