Centenary

from Centenary

BART Station Bard

I know you’re angry.
So am I.
How could we not be?
Children ripped from their parents,
Concentration camps in Texas.
“I can’t breathe”
“I remember their laughter”
A child-man throwing ugly decrees from his high chair.

But from a high shelf in Europe come watercolor images a century on.
French families fleeing destruction.
Children starving in Yemen.
Corpses of trees standing witness as men follow orders into death.
As we follow our leaders.

They know who we need to hate.
In front of City Hall we are led in chants.
We know the story.
Our indignation gives us the right to hate.
We have worked so hard, but They stole our votes, our climate, our lives.
We will make them pay!
We will come here every night if necessary!
Bearing placards, twisted pictures of an uncrowned King.
A piñata we can beat to death
Until we get our hands…

View original post 176 more words

Ghost

I pull the pigtails
of the pale
little girl

whose skirt
is a raggedy shroud.

She is skinny
innocence
and says
in a past life
she carried
a cross.

She says, “Every time I shoplift, an angel sheds a tear”


Rob Goldstein 2015-2018

Dissociative Identity Disorder: The Monsters Are Back

Some context.

I often write from the perspective of an alternate personality, in this case Peter, a child alternate who thinks he’s a ghost. I first posted this piece in July 2016.

Warning: Content may be triggering.

The Monsters are Back


Today was a week and now is a year.

Grief

Grieve

Grieving

Art by Rob Goldstein
Scissors

It’s 1958; monsters are everywhere.

They hiss faggot as I walk with my
head bowed.

They gather in packs and surround me.

I freeze in horror and shame.

It’s 2018 and the monsters are back.

I know these monsters;

They killed me when I was five.

A black and white screenshot of avatars staged to represent a child alternate named Peter and protector alternate named Bobby.
A screenshot of avatars staged to represent a child alternate named Peter and protector alternate named Bobby.

All material on this page (c) Rob Goldstein 2016-2018

More info: What is an alternate?

Save

Save

Save

Save

Front Page

Warning: potentially triggering content.

A single homicide has a dozen victims

***

Discovered–

by the whore who lived upstairs,

‘usta stench, but nothin’
like this!’

your disordered flesh.

The cops thought  

you were Black

when they

found you,

no face,

 no fingerprints…

Tall order lady,

greasy spoon waitress:

what did we do–

to deserve this?

 

(c) Rob Goldstein, 1982 – 2015