Thursday, November 10, 2016

A Prose Poem Written in a Fugue State on November the Ninth Two Thousand Sixteen

Today, Donald Trump is the forty fifth President of the United States.

Last night, I slept. Restlessly, but I slept. I slept because I couldn’t watch. I slept because there was nothing left to do.

I woke this morning and Donald Trump is the forty fifth President of the United States.

I already knew. I knew because last night, I awoke at 3am to the sound of sobs. My partner was crying and I knew. See, she is not like me. I am not afraid. Why is that? I am a wealthy, white, straight, cis-gendered male. I do not think in those terms because I do not have to. My partner and people like her can’t afford not to.

My interests are not all interests, but they will be seen to. They will be seen to no matter what. I know this because I did not vote. Let me say that again: I do not vote. I am not a registered voter. Because I can afford not to be. In my lifetime there will not be a need for my voice. My voice, my concerns will be seen to.

I am not afraid. But, my partner is. She is very afraid, as are the people I live with, as are the people I am friends with. The reason being, I am in the minority. In my household, we have more latin voters than black, more black voters than white, and we have no white voters. We have our problems, but we make it work because we see such a wide variety of views. I see such a wide variety of views. They are afraid and I am not.


When the life of a person, not their deeds, nor speech,  but their very existence is a political act, then they have done enough. They are surviving and that is enough. When that is the case it is the responsibility of those who are unafraid to act, to speak, to be a voice, a call to reason and fairness and equality. Because we can afford to be offended; we can afford to be made uncomfortable.

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