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America, home of the brave
        Front porch to the heartless, the semi automatic pencils and No. 2 bullets
        Assembly line minds, mechanical step one, step two, three four and five, graduate high school, curl up and die

America, whose backyard is a grave
        Bloodied aspirations shanked by debt and slaughtered by expectations
        Where the lives of seventeen are mourned by youth and mocked by the unaffected
        How the people lament and cry "change! change!" only to scoff when those advocating for it step forward
        How they want change, as long as things don't change for them
       
America, where the protectors are puppets,
        Dancing along their corporate strings, guns to their heads and guns in their hands
        They turn a blind eye to the violence that fills their pockets to the brim with blood money

America, where Twitter is the new fireside talk
        Where our news is untrue and the tabloids are true
        Where a few characters leads to tension across the sea, across the world, where a new Staples button has been purchased in attempts to stave of criticism because this one works

America, land of the homeless saviors
        Where they believed in the cause, left for national love and won or lost but fought nonetheless
        Where praise to actors of lives lost on the big screen goes unquestioned and without a say by strangers but never to the ones who lived it through

America whose youth poison themselves and each other in a futile attempt to mean something,
        Who dream of something better but have no means to reach it, because all thoughts of change have been replaced with a nine to five and a five to ten
        Who can no longer dream because sleep is a luxury, a blessing, water in a desert

America, where cities never sleep and sleepy towns never wake
        Where the war on drugs was a war for racism in a white sheet,
        Where it feels like progress is a step forward towards the starting line

America, torn by state and by heart
        Where hopeless is beyond emotion, rather a mist snaking through us all
        How heavy our eyes must grow to ignore our clouding vision, how stale must we be to our violence?

America, where we march for a cause we don't know,
        Where order is respected over righteousness and unity and solidarity
        Where there are no lines to be blurred because right and wrong are on a gradient based off of skin color and income

America, where I am sorry.
       

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America, this land of mine.
       
America, I'd make things right.

America, if only we had the time.

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This is probably the longest poem/prose I've written so please let me know what you think! I love Allen Ginsberg's poetry a lot, and I highly suggest it!! This poem was inspired specifically by Howl and America, the former of which is probably one of his most famous and influential pieces.