On the day after, my Piano Man and I stood by the sink, holding each other’s heart close. There was, perhaps, some raging and weeping and dreading… My dread was not inspired by Trump, or by the so-called better America he plans to create. I dread, dread, dread what his behavior towards women, immigrants, the disabled, Muslims and pretty much towards anyone who he deems dangerous or not pretty enough symbolizes… what the words that ooze out of his mouth have emboldened some to do.
I know more than one decent person who voted for Trump—individuals who truly believe this man will make things better for everyone. I disagree with their views, but I know they are not evil. They are not the ones ripping hijabs off faces, desecrating safe places, or shouting that the color of my skin, my beliefs and my first language don’t belong in the country whose freedom I’ve helped protect.
I’ve read so many ugly words these last few days… so much nasty name-calling… and blatant hatred towards all Trump supporters. We can’t do this to each other. I know that a lot of filth has crawled out to stink up our country. But we must remember that this is not true of every person who voted for him. Most important, we must not forget that no one learns by being kicked in the head.
I am, by no means, suggesting we shouldn’t be angry. When gloom threatens, bottled up emotions can be a dangerous thing. Be furious. Be miserable. Be outraged. Be disgusted. Be kind to those in need… be a thinker.
A lot of people are afraid, my Wicked Luvs. And the yelling and blaming is only making their fears more pronounced. This is not the time to kick all Trump supporters in the gut, but the day to offer a hand and a thought-filled word to anyone who is too scared to think clearly. Remind them that in you, they can find safety… and, of course, a soul willing to rage with them until the bad energy is spent.