A quiet part of me knew that as she pressed her hands into the arm rests of the chair I was sitting in, leaning her face into the breath space of my face, that she was using my skin.

Every consonant she spoke struck onto my forehead and cheekbones. I squinted my eyes but did not move.

Her frustration for white women coated my body like paint.

Necklaces and bracelets and watches and make up

I used to look forward to decorating myself each day

Now it feels like a chore and barely even crosses my mind

Until

Until I see other people all put together nicely

They have taken care to present themselves to the world

I’m in a place in my brain where either

I am not worth the trouble

Or

The world is not worth the trouble

Of putting care into how I appear

Part of me wants to blame it on depression, but another part of me knows that I’ve just seen too much behind Oz’s curtain

And now the illusion is ruined

And you can see it in my naked face

And baggy clothes

And distended gut

Some days I feel inspired to be the best me I can be

Some days I feel inspired to die

I’m told this is normal.

Some days I can get out of bed and tackle the mountain of plans, obligations, and bullshit waiting for me

Some days I fantasize about being paraplegic so I have a valid excuse to explain how I feel

I don’t tell people that, in case it’s not normal.

Some days the creativity flows through my mind and hands like electricity

Some days my most creative achievement is wiping my ass

That might be normal.

Some days I feel like I could give 10 speeches on things I’m passionate about

Some days even speaking one word feels like an insurmountable task

Is that normal?

Some days, few days, my mind and body are in sync with coordination and grace

Some days, most days, I drop everything I touch and trip over nothing

The docs don’t seem to care if that’s normal.

Are we all struggling this hard?

I want to wake up

with land to tend to

with animals to feed

with breakfast to cook

without a hurry

I want to go to sleep

with tired muscles

with a calm mind

with the windows open

without an alarm

Suck it in

Squeeze it in

Burning butthole

No bathroom in site

Hold it

Hold it

Hold it

Burning butthole

Squirming feet

Wrinkled face

Aching stomach

Breathe but not too deep

This too shall pass

This too shall pass

Burning butthole

Regretting nourishment

Time stands still

Chaos inside my ass

Distraction is futile

Burning butthole

I wish it was more comforting to know I’m not the only one drowning in the ignorance of others.

But it’s not.

I do not come from royalty

I do not come from money

.

I am a worker bee

forever making honey

.

No concept of how much

gets siphoned from the top

.

But there never is enough

So never do I stop

If you judge others for not being Christian, you’re missing the

whole

point

Feeling hopeless

This is my letter to all my fellow countrymen.

  You have an influence that I have no control over. This is a fact that is especially loud when raising children. It’s not just about day to day encounters with others. It’s also about who, we as a people, elect as leaders.

  I grew up in the 90s and early 2000s. I remember political campaign ads. I remember seeing the debates and speeches. I remember the yard signs and bumper stickers. None of these things were upsetting as a child.

  Do you know what my kids have seen since the Trump era began? They’ve seen a president make fun of special needs individuals. They’ve seen a president become a felon and run for reelection. They’ve seen yard signs, flags, bumper stickers, and shirts that say, “Fuck your feelings,” and, “Fuck Biden.”

    There’s even more disturbing things they haven’t seen. I can only prevent them from seeing, so much. Especially when it’s bumper stickers, window decals, yard signs, and flags.

  I’d like you to think of our country through the eyes of a child this election. Please show my son that this country is full of people who care about others and their rights. Please show my daughter that it’s about having the right resume for the job, and not the right genitals. Please show the children of our country that we care about funding their schools. Please show the children of our country that we don’t want them to be hungry. Please show the children of our country that we care about the earth we are leaving for them.

  Thank you for listening.

-One parent in America