Isn’t it going to be exciting to watch the end of the world? It’s already oh so silent.
I just watched Donald Trump win the role of President in the United States of America, the nation I have called home my entire life. It has not always been warm, it has not always been friendly, but I have always been free.
Tonight, people who I consider my friends voted against me, in one form or another- third party, or for Trump himself. Tonight, I have watched the people who claim to love me place a knife in the hands of Mike Pence, Donald Trump, and a Republican-dominated house and Senate, and guide the blade to the belly of the LGBT people and nod in agreement for their disembowelment.
I feel betrayed, I feel lost, I feel alone. This year, we had the largest and most significant mass slaughter of gay and trans people in Florida. My 9/11. Those perfect queer angels were lost in vain tonight. Florida saw an outpouring of support when the dead were fresh. Now, as they rot, those supporters guide the knife.
Tonight I get to watch a sick man’s mouth curl into a smirk and raise a fist to the sky, crushing my chosen family in his grip. I feel total danger and fear in the hands of the leader of the free world. As do women. As do people of color.
I am not saying Hillary is perfect. I know she played us. I know I was a pawn in her ploy to win. But I know she was a politician and I know I feel safe that she is the face of a predictable operation that will keep me safe, physically and legally. She was there, at Pulse. Mourning loss, despite whatever she may or may not have believed.
Donald Trump said “I told you so.”
Before his inauguration and before it becomes an FBI matter, I want to say that I want to piano wire Mike Pence until he is dead. I want to stare him in the eyes while I feel his skin go cold. I have nothing to say to Satan, only my life to live.
To Donald Trump, who commissioned Mike Pence to be his right hand man, and still insisted he was one of the biggest pro-LGBT candidates of all time, I have only one thing to say.
Get your filthy hands off of my flag. He waves the flag that is my Pride and I feel his hands on my body and I am being molested. He uses the flesh and blood of the greatest, most powerful, most creative, most intelligent, and most prideful people to walk the Earth as ink for his rhetoric against them. He makes vows to enact laws that say America would be great without them.
I suppose PC Culture was the perfect scapegoat to justify racism, homophobia, and misogyny. We’re tired of pussies right? And non-pussies say anything goes. I suppose if Trump is owed anything, it’s for showing America’s true colors, America’s great disease.
Because a woman with more experience than any person in Washington D.C. couldn’t beat a reality TV Star with no military or political knowledge, he didn’t even need to say anything misogynistic. We all said it.
Because the migrant laborers that keep white kids able to go to school for professional careers while they slave away in subhuman conditions are still having the blame placed on them for things not being good enough for the white kids, he didn’t need to say anything racist. We all said it.
Because the gay and trans people who adopted the children others didn’t want, who spawned the culture everyone stole to tweet, who just wanted to fall in love, who just wanted to eat in a f—- restaurant, who just wanted to have a wedding cake made in their hometown, who just want to be able to take a piss at Target, are having their hearts ripped out and stomped on by a population that thinks that thinking about gay sex is “icky,” he didn’t have to say anything homophobic. We all said it for him.
As I watched Trump’s smile, I felt evil in my heart. I felt my heart racing, my blood at a rolling boil. Over 50 million people think it’s fair to let the world know they hate me.
I had a fantasy as I watched in which I force every person who voted for Trump, third party, or penciled in “Harambe” to sit across a short table from me while I cry and whisper “Tell me you hate me. Look at me here alone, and tell me you hate me. Tell me you do not want me to get married. Tell me you do not want me to have a place to sleep. Tell me you want me to be fired from my job because of who I love. Tell me and watch me cry and know who you are. Tell me and know that because you did this to me, I carry nothing but rage in my heart for you forever.” I do this to all 50 million of you.
I will run out of tears, I will leave my seat at the table, but I will not hang my head. I will go with my people, be taken in their arms, and make America great again: by drying our eyes, combining our powers, and burning the f—er down.
A brief history of Mike Pence being Satan incarnate: HERE
Nick Malone is a nineteen year old writer who is trapped for the next four years beneath the oppressive thumb of politically-mandated homophobia. Find him on Twitter @VLRTUALBOY and on Grindr being bated by government catfish into conversion therapy camps.