Maimed - a poem about the aftermath of the 2016 presidential election

I rarely write political poems simply because they feel like they have an expiration date. Times change and I want my work to be applicable to any era, not just the ones in which I am writing. But I care and I want things to be better. I vote and I encourage others to do the same. I am vocal during in-person conversation and on social media, but I don't like letting the bitterness of politics get into my creative work, even though I know it is a valuable and rich topic if you know how to get around that bitterness. Today, I'm trying to do just that.

I fight hard against all of the things that our soon-to-be leader stands for. I really, really do. But one thing that I have learned from all that work is that it is next to impossible to change a hateful human being. If someone is racist, sexist, xenophobic, etc., it is generally deeply ingrained and whatever you say goes in one ear and out the other. This election exposed the toxic underbelly of America and there is no hiding the fact that we've got a nation where many mindsets clearly reflect the bloody history that it was founded upon.

This country was stolen from its natives and then this narrative was created where we are supposed to be a bright beacon of hope for the world. I'd like to think that some of those past leaders really believed that narrative. Because beautiful things do come out of dark times. If that weren't true, then we might as well just throw in the towel right now. We do have to turn this around. But my question is how? Hate is much like cancer. It grows and invades until everything healthy and good surrenders to it.

This person who is set to become the head of our nation, whose name I will not even mention, is indeed an enormous problem for our nation and for the world, but he is only a product of the nation that voted for him. The people who are willing to overlook or even glorify his hate are the real problem. They did not just pop up on the map in November of 2016. They have been here all along. They're just not hiding in the shadows anymore. They're loud, mad, and violent. Again, I ask you how. How do we make a difference? How do we move forward? I don't have the answers and this poem is my attempt to articulate that.

Maimed

I hesitate to put pen to paper on this.
The page repels my hand.
The issue contorts my mind.
I am at a loss in so many ways.
I wonder if it's even worth exploring.
A monologue is the problem
and a conversation is the answer.
Maybe. If there is a solution at all.

I was born and raised in an ignorant land,
shaped and molded by hateful hands,
but I flourished into something loving anyway.
Coated in an impenetrable wax of faith and kindness,
the rains of judgment beaded and never touched me.
I withstood the dark times and still sought the sun.
I must remember this now—must repeat it and repeat it
until muscle memory kicks in and I recreate it.
Recall the motivations and reenact the movements
until it's possible to perform an encore of that victory dance.

But even the words I choose offend my senses.
Victory? That reeks of battles and of war.
Can you defeat the beast if you become the monster?
I'm not sure of that, or of anything, anymore.
Abhorring the game doesn't mean it won't be played.
Protesting the system won't stop it—not today.
There is reality to be faced
and our euphoric view won't change
the villains who now own the landscape.
Tell me how the peace lovers and the warmongers
can exist in the same physical space.
Tell me how to fix what has been maimed.