Love Letter To Donald Trump

I’m a daughter of this earth, lips thick as
conscience, skin brown as burning flags
I’m a preacher from the Muslim community
I’m a lover of the Navajo clan

I’m the Mexican who has never bought life insurance,
or cut the crust off a cheese sandwich
I’m the transgender who wears lacy panties and paints
a mole beside my lips because it
reminds me of Marilyn
I’m the homeless shitting your street
I’m the refugee who like Atlas, holds my burning home
in my heart, and my fleeing
baby in my arms
I’m a Syrian
I’m an Iraqi
I’m the American who doesn’t want
my colour to become my identity,
and my voice to become a threat to
myself

I’m the prostitute, the one
who was raped first, stabbed
after, and left with her eyes open to see a world which
destroys itself every night, and
is born again in the morning
I’m the woman whose
vagina has become
a battleground for
invading fingers, after
you taught them, how lightly the burden of guilt rests,
like fairy dust on naked skin
I’m your marginalised
after dark
unafraid
booty call

Come, find me
Tear me apart, and
I’ll show you how I survive