A violent love

Had a friend
A gay man of color who came from a middle class family, made good money.

When Trump was elected he told me I was being silly for my fears He told me I was being over-emotional, the things I and other people were saying were not going to happen.

I’m horrified that we
Those who took to the streets
Those who started planning
Those who rushed to government offices
Those who broke in night and the weeks after are right.

I cut this man from my life on all avenues of contact.
I’m thinking of him now what his face looks like, what he feels if anything as these people and countless others are dead because of murderers getting fueled up under a false and blood-soaked banner of nationalism they call patriotism.

The white supremacist with the gun
The white supremacist with the bombs
The white supremacist who is your doctor
The white supremacist who is your lover
The white supremacist who is your teacher
The white supremacist who is your manager
The white supremacist who is your neighborhood officer

Killing you in literal ways quickly and slowly.

The entitlement of the white supremacist to our bodies, to our knowledge, to our history, to our lives

The white supremacist who expects to be met, told and taught about their present-day and historical impact by marginalized people with gentle smiles and open arms and love.

You’d be surprised how violent acts can be committed with a heart full to bursting of love.

I have a heart that has been broken by this, by the weeks and months before, by Tamir Rice and Sandra Bland, by rocks thrown at my head at a football game for being on the “wrong side”, from being denied access to a sleep over in kindergarten because of the color of my skin by the mother of a friend who was also the school’s counselor…

A heart so broken, enlarged by the size of it’s scars
And full to bursting with a violent love.

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