creative renegades with limitless ideas lust in search,
of what exactly they are unsure,
posing more questions, thirsting for answers,
cringing at conformity,
aching temples, clouded thoughts,
reckless dreamers avoiding obligation,
playing hard, scrambling to produce exceptional work,
sifting through digital clutter,
to enhance ordinary,
aiming too high, popping capsules of toxic opportunity,
gravitating towards passionate illusions,
they must excel,
be right, don’t ask questions, don’t be wrong,
money is the end, money is the reason,
they are confused,
what do you want from them?
They are entranced
by laser music notes,
sweat beads glisten their day-glo painted bodies as they tangle, twist and jive,
glittered beats vibrate their imaginations,
preoccupied with individualistic notions,
drinking up fear, coughing up drunken aspirations, inhaling rationalizations,
they don’t sleep,
officials polarize their nation,
smirking with ignorant disbelief at what has yet to be achieved,
disproportionately represented, they criticize,
pursuing some escape from the spin that is spat,
is it possible to accomplish significant reform?
Their daring hearts fall
into multifaceted, undercover love affairs,
spiraling into sexcapades free of consequence,
countless unworthy lovers provide minimal satisfaction,
obsession with instant gratification leaves no space for love,
where does this leave them?
After reading Allen Ginsberg’s Howl this year, I was inspired to write a poem that reflected upon my generation. I do not wish to compare my short poem to his masterpiece, just to note that I was provoked by his ideas and idiosyncratic style.
Hayley studied journalism, politics and international media at the University of Colorado—Boulder. In between juggling school and various jobs, she makes time to snowboard, travel, write and craft. She surrounds herself with people that motivate and embrace her as she strives to make a difference in anyway she can. Follow her on twitter.
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July’s Full Moon in Capricorn: The Heart wants what it Wants. The 4 Stages of a Good Divorce. Our Soulmates are Rarely Who We Expect. A Letter to my Children: You do not come from a Broken Home. Men, Let’s Stop Fooling Ourselves: Size Matters. To the One Who Tried to Break Me. An Open Letter to the Fixers. Mom, can I Call her Mom, Too? How your Stored Memories in the Amygdala can lead to PTSD. Jon Stewart makes first appearance since retiring—”it’s not your country.”