The Meaning of Charlie Armanio

VIII

                  

"BEFORE I READ JASPER'S," I start, picking up my notebook from my backpack, "I think you should hear my poem first. Well, it's not really my poem, it's – Mr Bryant gave us this work to 'tweak' an already made poem so I chose Howl, by Allen Ginsberg. And I thought you might want to hear it since you kind of inspired it."

"Don't laugh at me in your head, though, I was pretty emotional when I wrote it. It's pretty long."

I clear my throat.

❝"I'm seeing the greatest minds of my generation being destroyed by bullying, trying hard to fit in when they were made to stick out, dragging themselves through the mud to find somewhere they fit in,

delusion – filled heads ponder over the feeling of not being made fun of or treated badly, pushed against lockers, and coming home with a busted lip unable to explain where and how and why they wear it,

who with brains of gold and dreams of galaxies and eyes twinkling stars they stole sit idly in side bars with jack daniels in their hands trying to saturate these galaxies

who unleash their brains to the world, trying to mean something more than just know-it-alls high off of the knowledge they desperate want to increase,

who pass through the hallways like leaves society blows into the direction it chooses,

who were ostracised from their friends by someone's liking of the feel of their backs against lockers, the feel of not being able to actually feel anything but pain,

who wrote books and tales of a happy life than they are living,

who may get accepted into Harvard but will be unable to go because they nurture for the lonely life-giver who slaves day and night in their kitchen,

who eat night after night alone in their small kitchen with no food but the soul and ponder of greater things and the meaning of life,

with broken hearts and broken dreams and broken arms and busted lips and crooked smiles and broken teeth and hands chained tight to their hope that seems to be withering,

incapable alcohol maintenance downing drink after drink after drink, embracing the pain of the liquor against the cut on their lips,

who are high of some substance they bought from their mothers medicine cabinet and are blabbering about the unjustness of Justice and the rightness of unrighteousness and walking around the school with sedated smiles, unable to tell the time for Lunch,

from the time for Geography and the time for closing from the time for History from the time for English,

who ride public buses from Tiffany Bridge, to Florence , and off, then Florence to Brown Street, and off, then from Brown Street to Mary Louise, and off, and from Mary Louis to Jay Panbaker's house so they both can take a bus from,

Jay Panbaker's house to Heathermore Street to the bar on the fifth avenue to ask their cousin Larry for his car so they could park in something new,

who stare at their flesh and think of dieting for the rest of their lives because people think it's not sexy to have extra,

who raised money from lemonade to donate to a cause they are ashamed to mention they support,

who raised children the way they parents raised them and while they complete their high school, their child starts pre,

who smile in the mornings but cry in the evenings,

who's faces are a mask,

who lie to feel okay,