Morning After

I am not a poet, but this is what's on my mind with Trump's second election. I feel strangely calm. Here is why.

Bagel believes in trans liberation

You wake up to a new world that is the same as the old world.
Your ego has been flattered by months of campaign ads in which you,
And lust for mass deportation and lies about cat-killing immigrants,
All became stars of their show. You are stuck
On some poll you read, that claimed half of all voters
Think transgender rights have gone too far.
88% of Trump voters. “Harris voters were more divided.” 

You wonder if something inside of you broke irreparably some time ago, explaining 
Why you are not surprised by this new world. Why it is the same as the old world.
Maybe the shock will wear off and you’ll catastrophize.
Your mask of apathy will crumble. Your functions will glitch.
Your garments rent. Tears. Heaving sobs.
A psychosis relapse, like November 2016 threatened.

No, you will do what it takes to preserve your cynical remove.
Months of your starring role have convinced you of their hatred,
And their god will inform them with each prayer
That you are living well, that you are happy and whole beyond their control 
And if that knowledge contributes to their ulcers
Constipation
Diarrhea
Heartburn
Loneliness
Their paranoia turning manic
The classic TERF downward spiral you’ve witnessed in J.K. Rowling 
Then you wish upon them estrangement from family and mental hospital stays
And you will pour love into your loved ones
And sleep well, take your meds, nourish your sanity,
And your vengeful spirit will lift up your life, your great quest for meaning,
You’ve discovered the evolutionary purpose of spite.