Trump's America is Not My America

For the past two months, I’ve constantly felt like I was in an episode of Punk’d, just waiting for someone to come out and tell me that none of this was really happening and that we didn’t just elect a guy who got his twitter confiscated into the highest office in our nation.


With a little under two hours till the inauguration, I’m here to tell you that this isn’t an episode of Punk’d.


This isn’t some weird dream.


This is real.


Even though the majority of Americans voted against him, he still slipped through and became president.


And people who I considered to be friends, and some even family, still don’t really grasp why this is such a big issue and why so many of us are actually devastated.


Many (white) americans saw this past election as well, just an election. It was your average election like the ones past.


They see us as whiners and sore losers because HRC lost.


They see us as bitter and hypocritical for starting hashtags like #notmypresident about Trump, when we called them disrespectful for doing it about Obama.


I see them now wanting us to concede and pray Trump does a good job, simply because if he does a bad job we all go down with him.


I’m not a political analyst.


I’m not someone who has dedicated her life to watching CNN and understanding every little part of her government and the system.


I’m just a millennial black girl who has always wanted to believe in a better tomorrow, and who has always wanted to believe that justice, truth, and love conquers all. I don’t know if that makes me naive or courageous, but regardless, it almost feels like those morals I held myself to and I held my country to failed me.


This election was not just an election.


This election was a determination of whether or not we’d be moving forward to the future, or back thirty or forty years into a past I had hoped we’d escaped.


This election we had a man who openly stood for so many horrible things, run a campaign trail based on hate and contempt for other people, races, and cultures. We had a man who vowed to bring back initiatives that would put our PoC at risk, take away the rights to the LGBTQIA+ community, make life harder for the differently and disabled communities, and more.


We had a man who was supported by vulgar hate groups that are known for crimes against Americans climb his way to the top of our nation.


We are about to have a sexual offender sworn in as our 45th President of the United States, and as much as I want to say he isn’t my president, he sadly is about to be simply because only the POTUS is able to do what he is about to do.


He’s going to help pass legislation that basically makes my body property of the state and not my own.


He’s going to fight for laws that have since been abolished that will put my family’s life in danger.


He’s going to create a world where simply existing as a black woman of color and advancing in her career goals is harder than ever.


I am constantly reminded that the leaders of this country does not care about my life.


I am constantly reminded that to a large percentage of the country, my life doesn’t matter.


And now, every insecurity, fear, and real life trial and tribulation I have faced and will face is personified and preparing to place his right hand on a bible to officially start his new job as 45th POTUS.


The night of the election, my grandmother laid next to me in bed.


She told me stories about how they fought and won through so many other battles and people similar to Trump throughout her lifetime. While it was supposed to be comforting, it wasn’t, because now my generation is going to have to battle the same things.


...This is my soon to be president, and that’s not a pill I truly think I can swallow.


So, I know I’ll have to resist the next four years.


I’ll find a way to remind everyone like me out there that their life does matter.


I’ll turn to the people who are down for the fight and who have spoken up against Trump and the clique he claims.


I’ll find solidarity with the different communities out there who are now at risk.


As much as I feel like I’m alone right now, I have to remember I’m not.


I’m not the only one scared.


I’m not the only one terrified for their family and friends.


As much as we’re moving back, I like to think that socially we are moving forward in uniting against our domestic greater evil.


I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next four years.


I don’t know if we’ll enter WWIII.


I don’t know if they’ll end up registering my uterus in some weird database system so they can monitor exactly when I have my period, when I’m on birth control, if I’m sexually active, or if I need to get an abortion.


My body is my body.


My mind is my mind.


My life matters, and so do the lives around me, and my America is an America that believes in the same things.


I don’t hate my country.


I hate some of the things it’s done, and I hate parts of our past.


I hate orange colored aspects of our present and future four years as well.


Donald Trump’s America is not my America, and that’s not the America I’m fighting for.


I’m not a politician, and I don’t want to run for public office.


I’m just a millennial black girl who is naive and silly enough to believe that America’s tomorrow can be better for both myself, and for anyone labeled as different in this country.


I’m just a millennial black girl who can’t give up this unrestrained feeling of a hope that this country will be able to embrace my future daughter better than they embraced me, my mother, my grandmother, and those women behind me.


I’m just a millennial black girl who can’t shake her belief that justice, faith, and love will conquer all.


This fight isn’t over. It didn’t stop at the election. It isn’t going to stop after today. It won’t stop after the next four years. It won’t stop even after then.

The fight will never be over, and while that’s daunting, it’s also good, because that means hate will never truly win.

This isn't Goodbye, it's BRB.

The Rise & Fall of the Self Help Industry.