On Trump’s America…

It’s not everyday that you hear a president castigating a mayor, but here we are in Trump’s America.

It’s not all the time that a group of heavily armed men storm into protests, but here we are in Trump’s America.

Doublespeak, 17 year olds with assault rifles, boogie men, boogaloos, and patriots support the tyrants here in Trump’s America.

Race riots, millions unemployed, fake news, broken values, stirring the pot and getting stronger through hate, here in Trump’s America.

Disrespect, casting blame, no values and nothing to own, not here in Trump’s America.

We’ve got enough, but far too little, and we’re trying hard to destroy ourselves in Trump’s America.

We’ve got a cheerleader in the White House, who wears a skirt for the Russians and kisses himself in the mirror, in Trump’s America.

His makeup is made-up, and his army have microphones; nothing is true unless he says it’s so in Trump’s America.

You’re not like us! Don’t be in pain, don’t even complain; hope is an enemy and we have to snuff it out in Trump’s America.

Oh, you, you look like me, well how can it be, let’s create an enemy — oh joy to play civil war, cuz we’re ready to destroy in Trump’s America.

Anger. Fire. Riots. Looting. Race. Depression. Opioids. Drug drug drug. Blow your mind; loaded guns. Trump’s America.

How can two worlds live apart in the same place? The answer is simple: they can’t. We live in Trump’s America.

And here, there’s anger and boredom and violence. There’s carnage and depression. Maybe it was always there, Trump’s America.

Maybe it was manufactured when the country stopped building; maybe it’s our new religion now that we’ve decided Nietzsche was right in Trump’s America.

But whatever you do, don’t help people. Don’t be charitable and forget about compassion. Hate first people who don’t look like you in Trump’s America.

You can move on to hate other people — maybe one day even people who look just like you. Who remind you of what you were, before Trump’s America.

Maybe the good old days never were. My America may have always been Trump’s America.

But the place where I grew up feels foreign to me now. Kindness and compassion and joy were once easy. Today, it’s all politics. And I look out at a new America, Trump’s America.

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Author of Populace; former journalist, farmer, librarian, burger flipper, bagboy, groundskeeper, political organizer, and shill.

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A.M. Wilson

A.M. Wilson

Author of Populace; former journalist, farmer, librarian, burger flipper, bagboy, groundskeeper, political organizer, and shill.

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