thinking out loud ~ spoken words

The Golden Kids

Society put all the kids like us in a line, 

and judged us for how perfect we were,

from the moment we were born.

Because I came out of the womb and crawled straight into court, 

where everyone is sentenced into a place for the Not Good Enough.

But the Golden Kids,

the Golden Kids were dragged out of the line, 

and put on a stage in the stadium.

performing for the audience,

for the rest of us.

It was a beautiful show, at first.

So golden.

My class is a definite pyramid, three parts to it,

the Golden Kids on top.

It's a moving line, the system is so fine,

if you don't want to get lost, don't stop.

We are pushed and jostled to our limits, 

the most pressure was always on the Golden Kids.

And the rest of us, silver and bronze,

our hands pressed against the metal fence that separates Not Good Enough and Golden,

a Golden Kid,

We don't watch the show,

we want to be one of the actors.

The Golden Kids warned us not to be in the spotlight,

but we didn't give a damn about the factors.

So silver always spray-painted to gold,

and glitter was used to make bronze kids shine.

These are the three sectors of our golden hierarchy.

There should be nothing more.

But sometimes I feel like a 'ghost kid', 

hovering over the edge of the stadium, a spectator in the stands, 

watching the messy golden system unravel every day, watching the Golden Kids perform.

I wanted to yell that our system is failing us,

but no one hears me screaming, raw.

For the Golden Kids are far too loud, 

and as much as I want to raise my voice so the Golden Kids can see the ghosts in the stands,

I know that I cannot paint myself golden.

Ghosts can never shine.

The ghosts like the boy in the back of your math class,

the girl who shut up because people liked her better like that.

You may scream,

we are a snarling pack of wolves who tear each other down to be golden,

It's not true, we don't tear each other down,

we build each other up.

But while building,

we rise too.

And if we all rise at the same time,

things don't change.

They don't even out.

That's why you need a good foundation.

A golden foundation, like golden curls, or a pretty, pretty face.

All of these things can help you run the golden race.

Get you a first-class ticket on the golden train. 

I sit here, stuck in the economy class of the golden express, 

and I realize that I missed my stop a long time ago.

Intermission is over,

and the golden show never ends.

I hate when a golden girl makes complaints, 

about the rosy cheeks that allow her to look like a saint.

Because those cheeks are what give her a rare golden ticket.

Oh, what I wouldn't give for one of those.

Do the Golden Kids have it hard?

Or do the ghost kids have it harder?

It's not easy to be in the toxic politics of the golden group,

but the ghosts hovering in the stands are so tired of sitting down.

But Golden Kids, why, can you not hear me screaming?

I am trying to knock down this pyramid, 

it seemed fragile, at first,

but we are the building blocks on this golden foundation,

I'm so tired of running after the train in the golden station.

It's like the system of this world is one big conversation -- 

I am a lonely eavesdropper.

I'm not screaming anymore,

no one hears my cries.

It feels like I'm the only one who knows we were built upon lies,

we're all just kids caught up in this cruel world,

but what do I know, I'm just a ghost in the stands,

so I guess I'll just go and sit down, because the golden show is about to start.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go watch.

What do the Golden Kids have in store for us today?