Sorry, I haven’t been able to paint lately. Warning: The following contains disturbing text, after the quote from my favorite poem. It’s a personal story and it’s my reaction to Trump supporters, not that they’ll care.
Not here the darkness, in this twittering world.
Descend lower, descend only
Into the world of perpetual solitude –T.S. Eliot
I was molested by my stepfather, you know. Starting from the age of 12, when he grabbed my p***y or whatever you call that area of a 12 year old. I called it the place I pee.
I blamed him. I was alone in that. My family members, to this day, still accept him. He has money.
It doesn’t matter to them that he tried to feel me up for years, until I started beating him. The time I scraped clear and visible scratches all over his face with the bristles of a hairbrush finally ended it.
Yes, I told Mom 3 times about him.
He has money! Big house; vacations; new cars. She stayed.
I’ve known that Trump is a creep for as long as I’ve known his name. The fact that he gained the support of my part of the country, of my family members, has been a nightmare.
He has money.
When Trump was recorded saying that he grabs unsuspecting women by the p***y, I thought they would finally change their minds about the racist, woman-hating, pathological liar, con man who leaves others holding the bag, ignoramus, dictator wannabe, attention craver.
But he has money! (Some.)
They support him.
Yes, he’s going to lose the election – probably. But the supporters are still going to chant, “Lock her up!” “Put her before a firing squad!”
“White lives matter!”
“Boys will be boys.”
“Now Clinton, she’s the devil.”
This is the path downward. But this is the way they want to go.
So, we descend. Me, into solitude. I don’t want to come back out.
(that should probably be “I, into solitude”, but it sounds wrong)