Snow

For my creative writing class, we read the poem “Howl” by Allen Ginsberg. If you haven’t read it you can find it here, but it’s essentially Ginsberg’s commentary on society during the 1950’s, mental health, and how both of those things shapes brilliance and people in general. My professor gave us a homework assignment where we write a poem that emulate’s Ginsberg’s “Howl” and strongly focuses on social commentary, frantic listing, long lines, repetition of "who," and other aspects like his poem does. I wanted to share mine because even though it’s supposed to imitate “Howl,” I feel that it touches on our specific generation, it’s unique characteristics, and social struggles. Also because well, I’m no poet, but I’m pretty proud of this piece! Let me know what you think.

Snow

I saw blonde beauties open their throats and open their hearts for poison,

sanguine minds succumbed by deafening music and ravenous for sloppy attention,

mama’s boys with red cheeks chasing blondes and burnett’s with gatorade,

brunettes going blonde to chase boys with red cheeks,

each floor dripped with drugs and drunks and the higher up, the higher the people,

whose eyes were red and glossed with vulnerability,

who surrounded themselves with bodies and still felt alone,

who longed for conversations of substance, but abused substances instead,

who thought of staring into someone’s eyes, but stared into screens instead,

who stumbled home with a body missing it’s mind,

who woke up with racing hearts, roaring alarm clocks, sour tongues, and swollen lips,

who, with thunder in their bellies, sang songs of regret and shame and frowned in mirrors and ignored the thunder that shook their core,

who scrolled through quick fixes to shattered hearts and lonely beds,

who didn’t want what they needed and didn’t need what they wanted,

who broke nails and bruised thumbs seeking validation from strangers,

watching numbers climb and time slip from their lives,

who drank tequila on tuesdays, wine on wednesdays, were somehow thirsty on thursdays, fucked up on fridays, sent it on saturdays, and scared on sundays,

no wonder they’re mondays sucked,

who spent their present dreaming of the future and their future’s nostalgic of the past,

who burnt lips with cigarettes and burned bridges with bad behavior,

who floated through four years like the smoke from their joints,

and opened their throats and hearts for poison.


Innocent soul! I’m with you in Boulderland,

where your more naive than I am,

I’m with you in Boulderland,

where trees are the only thing grounded,

I’m with you in Boulderland,

where you lay naked while you lie to your parents, to your friends, to yourself,

I’m with you in Boulderland,

where the leaves fall on your fuzzy head,

I’m with you in Boulderland,

where you beg for attention at the doors of an abandoned home,

I’m with you in Boulderland,

where snow melts your melancholy mind and sends blood from your neglected nose,

I’m with you in Boulderland,

where the children pretend to be adults,

I’m with you in Boulderland,

where youth is wasted.