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Nicholas Goldstein Poem
That little girl in the picture was never me.
I was always this body
but you hid me.
under pink flounces and
was hidden by the universe’s cruel joke
puberty.
I was always this brain
locked with a red satin bow. To keep the world from knowing
I’m not your baby to cuddle and hold, keeping safe from the world. I’m not the one to be protected from the mean girls.
I don’t need to learn. To tease, the boys on the playground.
I am who the world is scared of, saying that in my creation someone made a mistake.
I am NOT a mistake.
Protect me from the men who hurt me because, I cut my hair. Tearing the ribbons which adorned it
and wrapping them ‘round my breasts.
Let me chase the girls
better yet let the girls say NO, I don’t want to be chased. And allow me be the type of boy who can respect that. Allow me to be any type of boy I want.
Respect me. Don’t just allow me.
Take a new picture of me, one that isn’t a lie.
Look at this picture, the only one which tells the truth
Put my now smiling face on your
Nightstand.
Copyright © Nicholas Goldstein | Year Posted 2016
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Nicholas Goldstein Poem
Made up eyes with false smiles
Filling our soul’s cracks with foundation
Editing ourselves into oblivion.
We don’t exist anymore, only our mask.
Only a mask remains
Holding together our fragmented souls.
The infrastructure of the mind is a rusted playground
from our youth
Replaced with the mask
of megapixels on a social media app.
Copyright © Nicholas Goldstein | Year Posted 2015
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Nicholas Goldstein Poem
We wear uniforms.
Pleated cloth, v-necks, submission with a smile. Our uniform
We ask for privileges that should be our right.
We are not prisoners, their is no barter system here. We have no rights.
Punishments do not fit the crime. We will always be caught.
Nature’s beauty suffocates as we are trapped inside our minds.
Don’t speak your mind.
Math, science, english, history
we go through the motions of class.
We go through the motions. Our minds want more than memorization.
Conversation. Is not allowed.
School does not take precedent.
Re-molding our minds matters more than math.
Copyright © Nicholas Goldstein | Year Posted 2017
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Nicholas Goldstein Poem
Three middle schools. Two high schools.
Teachers stand out for what they’ve taught me. Made me the person I am.
Lessons learned in class are not always the ones in the syllabus
These are the ones that decide your grade.
Teachers teach algorithms of popularity to get answers they like. But boy+girl doesn’t add up the same way 2+2 does.
You can not translate our lives as you can language.
???????????????
(wo men bu neng xiang fan yi yan na yang fen yi sheng ming)
We are not hormonal equations to be balanced into perfection.
Cracking canes against our skin
Hissing electricity snaking into our veins.
Engraving your ideal teenage formulas within us.
2+2=4
boy+girl=love
Their will be a test.
Copyright © Nicholas Goldstein | Year Posted 2017
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