A love letter to a trump supporter


My father was too a drunk. 
He came home at 4:00 am
when I was 8 years old,
and I ran inside as I watched him
fumbling to unlock the door.
I too used to be poor,
I lived in one room
with my mother and brother
had two pairs of pants
and read from used schools books.
I too watched tv and didn't see one face that looked like me. 
Didn't hear anyone speak for me. 
Didn't watch anyone come from their
ivory tower, to save me.
I too was afraid
of every one who didn't look like me,
they were mostly soldiers,
white and Israeli and pointing
a gun at me.
But then I came to America,
and I heard people who rapped
verses like gospel,
their faces honey colored,
chocolate, milk and everyone
kind of looked like me,
kind of loved me,
kind of taught me how to laugh again,
how to cross borders unafraid,
how to believe that I was human,
with rights and truths
that I can hold to be self evident,
even at a checkpoint.
I came to America,
and I saw a president,
who didn't look terrifying,
who wasn't ancient,
who lost his mother, to ovarian cancer
just like me,
and is still grieving.


What do we do now,
you and I?
What if I loved you,
wrote you Christmas cards,
ate pot roast at your table,
baked you the most perfect pie?
What if we got deeper into conversation,
and I told you how afraid I was,
for everyone I love,
for everyone who kind of looks like me?
You would cry, hold my hands,
tell me you too,
are afraid, to lose everything your drunk
father worked for, before he lost his job
got depressed, and sunk into the shattered remains of a factory that shut down,
in Flint, Toledo, Iowa, Indiana,Arkansas, and the darkest town in Pennsylvania.
We are all afraid.


I know you love me,
even if you don't know it yet.
I know you find me beautiful,
even if all your life you thought,
your dream girl was blonde.
I will make you love me,
see my curls as gospel,
my scarred knees as prayer,
my mouth as the holiest part
of your liturgy.
I will make you look into my eyes,
see the plowed fields of Wisconsin,
gold corn my spine,
my voice will sound like hope
Hope hope hope hope.
You will think nothing sounds
more musical than my curled R,
and the weight of my name.


I don't want you to pay a price,
For your freedom of choice.
I don't want to pay the price,
of your freedom of choice.


Give me your crooked, broken,
scared and hateful,
Give me your sexist, racist,
Billionaire presidents,
Give me your kind, joyful,
compassionate and eloquent,
and I'll give you back fire,
and let everything you thought
was true, burn,
watch the ashes crackle, 
and mourn for 40 days.


Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails.

Mark Doss