You're so angry

I hate Donald Trump.

That's not a secret.

I've pissed people off with my vitriol. I have been asked why the hate?

I don't think I have ever done an adequate job of explaining why I hate the man.

I don't think I can. I'm in my skin. You are not. Until you are, well, you just can't.

I live in Brown skin. I have a Spanish surname. I cannot speak Spanish. I've been called wetback and worse by white people. I've been called pocho and worse by other chicanos.

It is what it is. It's my life.

I have watched people I know and love hate their Brown skin. I sometimes hated the skin I was in.

And I've grown and learned to love the skin I'm in. I also know my skin is the first thing you see when you meet me. I know that there will always be people who measure me first, last, always by my Brown skin.

So when I see the leader of the free world on television state that a man - an American (like me) - born, raised, educated in this country (like me) - is not qualified to do a job because he is of Mexican decent (like me)...

I've been told to go back where I came from three times in my life. I promise, the people telling me to go back did not mean go back to California.

So when I see the President of the United States tweet that four brown skinned women should go back where they come from...

I am in my skin and I watch Brown people caged like animals, kids left in their own mess forced to represent themselves in court.

I am in my skin watching people laugh, seeing people post memes, saying stupid shit about a father and daughter dead in the water - as though their Brown skin discounts their value as humans.

I see all of the above in my Brown skin while our president celebrates it all.

He is vile.

I am sitting here typing this in my skin... using words that fall short because the words I want, I need, do not exist.

So let's say I am angry.

Not just with him. With those responsible for him.

And heartbroken.

Titty sprinkles.


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