to the winner who lost the popular vote:

i did not vote for you.
 i did not vote for dripping, crimson coat
 hangers;
 pleading privacy, surrendering
 security.
i did not vote for the homeland to 
 roll
 off of the tongue, 
 for wide-eyed mistrust, to finally realize
 how vulnerable one is.
i did not vote for the bending
 of reality; the 
 Normalization of humanity’s
 Inhumanity. she seems quite content,
 
though, even as blood — 
blood, that’s right, blood!
oh, i know you’re familiar with it,
blood coming out of her…
 vagina
or as you like to so eloquently declare, 
 wherever.

oh, please. you think your limited knowledge of anything,
is a grand gilded door to

¿México?

in case your minuscule hands 
are unable to grasp my point,
or even grab them like a feline,

i’ll spell it out:
this is an uprising,
rocket-fueled, ready to run,
resolved to make you pay.

easy. your insecurity 
precedes you,
protected by that repugnant,
rancid slime you ooze. it shelters
everything in a thick layer of
Alternative Facts.

let’s drench you in vinegar, 
see what happens
to that slime;

a terrified detainee at terminal 4, humiliated –
 round them up like cattle
a civil rights activist, skull fractured, is all talk –
 but does he Tweet?
an elderly couple, both disabled, questioned for miles –
 you don’t belong here
a Holocaust, a memorial day, no mention of Jews –
 purging history of reality
a frantic mother, held from her detained 5-year-old son –
 you still don’t belong here
a dissidence, a dissident, a moral argument –
 “you’re fired”

in response:
you are not poetry.
you are everything 
poetry vows to battle.

i own you.
i take your essence and mold it,
shaping it into a 
form
everyone can understand
 and spit upon.

you did not win the popular vote;
remember this.
you are not our voice
and you will never be.

(Note: The indented lines should be indented in a lot more, but unfortunately, Medium’s formatting does not support that.)