We’re not gonna keep pretending this was about “policy.” That it was “just politics.” That any of this was ever neutral.
Donald Trump didn’t “divide the nation”; the nation was already divided. He just took a fucking blowtorch to it and got rich doing it.
He didn’t build anything. He exploited what was already broken. He played white America’s fear like a damn fiddle and then sold tickets to the concert.
Yes, from the beginning? It was racism.
When he announced his campaign by calling Mexican immigrants drug dealers, criminals, and rapists. It wasn’t some offhand moment. It was the start of a plan. It was a signal to white supremacy: I’m your guy. Given his face looks like that little racist frog meme and all.
This wasn’t new. He’d already been pushing that racist birther lie about Obama for years, acting like the first Black president wasn’t legit because his skin made Trump uncomfortable. It wasn’t “doubt.” It was hate. That’s what got him attention. That’s what built his base.
He kept going.
He called for a Muslim ban.
He referred to Black and brown countries as “shitholes.”
He told Black women in Congress to “go back” where they came from. Three were born here though, I don’t think any of Trumps wives were.
He refused to condemn white supremacists. Told the Proud Boys to “stand back and stand by.” They heard him. Loud and clear.
And this whole time he was being taken to court by E. Jean Carroll for sexual assault. She won. He was found liable for sexual abuse. That’s not speculation. That’s not internet gossip. That’s legal fact. You voted for a rapist and a man who is proven to have said he just can’t help himself around beautiful women and I’m sure you know the rest of the line. I mean for Christ sake your vote was for a racist walking meme.
So while he was out here calling immigrants rapists , he was in court being held responsible for exactly that kind of violence. But the media won’t call it rape. They say “scandal.” They say “controversy.” They say “misconduct.” Nah. Say what the fuck it is.
Your president is a RAPIST!
This country made excuses for him. Over and over again. It’s not “bias” to say he’s racist . And it’s restraint not to say worse, honestly.
And we’re not gonna do the media’s job and soften this shit for you.
This is Poeaxtry’s Poetry Prism.
We don’t worship people who use power to abuse.
We don’t confuse “influence” for integrity.
We don’t forget.
We document the harm and provide a space for those targeted by Trump’s hate to share their own truths and reclaim their voices.
The world is full of noise. People act like they’ve got it all figured out. They pretend certainty is something you can buy, Google, or fake your way into. But real certainty doesn’t come easy. It comes from surviving things that should’ve broken you. It comes from loving hard and losing even harder. It comes from walking through the same fire twice and still choosing to fight for something better. These aren’t opinions I’m floating out to debate. These are truths I’ve earned, and they’re not going anywhere.
1. I’ll miss my mom forever. She was my best friend.
Grief doesn’t shrink with time. It just learns how to sit quieter in the room. My mom wasn’t just a parent. She was my anchor. My favorite person. My best friend. When the world went sideways, she was the one I called. Now that she’s gone, the silence where her voice used to be is deafening. Missing her is permanent, but so is her impact. She taught me how to be real. She showed me how to love with everything I have in me. My mom always encouraged me to keep going even when I feel like I can’t. That love doesn’t disappear. It just shifts into a new forever one.
2. All humans are equal, no matter their socioeconomic status.
I don’t care if someone’s living in a penthouse or sleeping in their car. People are people. Period. Worth isn’t tied to a paycheck, an address, or a resume. It’s wild that we still have to say this. This society is obsessed with pretending some lives matter more because they’re richer. People think cleaner or more “put together” lives are more important. That’s bullshit. Struggle doesn’t make someone less human, and success doesn’t make someone superior. Every person deserves dignity, not because they earned it, but because they exist.
3. I love the outdoors. Give me a trail and a dog, the all trails app, and I’m set.
Nature is my peace. The second I step onto a trail, even a short one, something shifts in me. I breathe deeper. I move freer. Add a dog to that and it’s basically therapy. I don’t need fancy plans. Just give me access to All Trails, a pair of beat-up shoes, and a four-legged companion, and I’m good. There’s something healing about watching the world do its thing without us. Trees growing, rivers moving, birds calling out like nothing’s wrong. It reminds me there’s still beauty, still quiet, still reasons to keep going.
4. The world doesn’t have to be like this. Everyone fighting for a crumb of the crust.
This system? It’s not broken. It was built like this. Built to pit us against each other while a handful of people hoard the loaf. But that’s not how things have to be. We’ve been tricked into thinking there’s no other options, that this toxic hustle and scarcity mindset is just life. But it’s not. We can build something better. We can share more, care more, unlearn this survival-of-the-cruelest nonsense, and remember how to exist in community, not competition. All people deserve more than scraps.
5. It’s very possible to not like either side of the U.S. government.
It’s wild how people act like criticizing both major political parties makes you some form of traitor. I’m not here to support any side that lies. I won’t cheer for those who manipulate. I refuse to back those who sell out the people they’re supposed to serve. Propaganda exists everywhere. It just wears different colors depending on the channel. You can call out bullshit from all sides without being “uninformed” or “indecisive.” Sometimes the most radical thing you can do is refuse to play the rigged game at all.
6. Dogs are better company than most people.
Dogs don’t lie. They don’t scheme. They don’t pretend to be your friend while secretly rooting for your downfall. Dogs love honestly and without ego. They care when you’re hurting, even if they don’t know why. They don’t need explanations. They just show up. There’s something about that presence that makes you feel safe in a way most people can’t match. I’ll take a dog’s loyalty over a human’s performative empathy any day.
7. The thrill is always worth the risk.
Chasing a view requires sore legs and scraped hands. Making a life decision scares you half to death. If it makes your heart beat faster, it’s worth taking the risk. It’s probably worth it. That fight to get there. That doubt you have to push through. A quiet moment at the top where it all comes together. That’s what makes it real. The joy doesn’t come easy, but that’s why it matters. I’d rather risk it and live fully than play it safe and feel nothing at all.
8. College degrees don’t measure intelligence or creativity.
You can’t teach vision. You can’t grade lived experience. I’ve seen some of the most brilliant people get dismissed because they don’t have letters after their name. Some of the most useless ideas get celebrated because someone paid tuition. Don’t get me wrong, education can be valuable, but it’s not the only way. It’s definitely not the only proof of worth. Some of the smartest people I know are autodidacts, survivors, creators. Degrees don’t define genius. Action does.
9. Family is everything, but I don’t just mean blood.
Blood ties you to people, but it doesn’t make them your family. Family is who shows up when shit gets real. They see you at your worst and stick around anyway. They know your trauma, your mess, your contradictions, and still call you theirs. I’ve built my own family through friendship, through chosen connection, through shared history and mutual growth. Those bonds? They’re just as sacred. Maybe more so, because they were made by choice, not chance. I do, however, cherish my given family that I decided to keep around.
10. Google isn’t how you prove research.
We’ve gotten lazy with facts. Type anything into Google and you’ll find a dozen articles to back it up, true or not. Real research takes more. It takes curiosity, discernment, and effort. It means asking who wrote it, who funded it, and why. It means reading past the headline. Most people don’t go that deep. They just want something to confirm what they already believe. But truth doesn’t live in echo chambers. It lives in the uncomfortable space between easy answers and actual effort.
These aren’t just passing thoughts. They’re part of me. They’ve been earned through grief, joy, clarity, and chaos. You don’t need everyone to agree with what you know in your bones. You just need to hold onto it when the world tries to convince you otherwise. So this is me holding firm. These are the things I know to be absolutely certain. And that’s enough.
I’m good at telling the truth, even when it’s raw. At writing poems that bite and bleed and bloom, that don’t apologize for what they carry. I’m good at seeing what others miss. Including in people, in patterns, in the quiet. I read cards like maps, pendulums like conversations, and I don’t flinch when the message is sharp. Following the message hidden with-in as if I knew the way all along.
Stone Crafts & Witch craft Items
I’m good at making things with my hands and with my heart. I can dig through dirt and stone to find what the earth tried to keep hidden. I then tumble it, or polish it, turn it into something you want to keep close. I make sprays, spell jars, wreaths, wands, offerings that work. That carry weight. That don’t just look pretty they include intentions clearly set by me.(I didn’t list every thing I make.)
Being a Friend
I’m good at being the friend who stays. The brother who knows when to check you and when to hold you. The brother who does anything to make you laugh. I’m good at hearing what isn’t being said. At being the kind of advocate that doesn’t water anything down. I fight smart, and I fight loud when I need to. I’m a Robin Hood for the ones who’ve been ignored too long. I know how to take up space without stealing it from others.
Cultivating Positivity out of the Negative
I’m good at turning grief into action. At noticing magic in the mess. At building community from the ground up, not just to exist, but to matter.
Survival & Forgiveness
I’m good at surviving and then choosing to come back with open hands anyway. I’m good at treating people better than they treat me, giving people too much energy, and trusting too fast also. Honesty it’s all a part of what makes me… me, so I’d keep it all the same.
So, tell me what are you good at that no one claps for, that no one sees until it’s gone? What about the thing you shine at even when no one’s watching, just because it’s yours? What did you never have to try to do you just knew like it was always with you ?
The moment I started writing for survival is not one that would be difficult to pinpoint, especially if you know my story well. I’m not sure if I can even claim that story as my own. It was always more Arielle’s to tell; the kid experienced the hell of living through it. It is simply a memory we share. I no longer carry the trauma it produced.
Let me paint you a picture: I was in 7th grade, around the age of twelve, a straight A student who loved sports, reading, chorus, and writing both short stories and poetry. I had just started hearing the murmurs in the halls, that boy this and this boy that. I had to hold my metaphorical vomit back. When did this happen? We want to ogle all the boys, since when? Not I, and then I realized my best friend and her thighs. This is not normal, and I am already weird so we can just pretend, go along with the boy trend. Fast Foward 7th grade Christmas break. This is the last place for you to turn around before the moment that changed me, and my reasoning for creating art through words.
Okay one of us is at least still here… I had to go to the house of my enemy for most of the break. I remember feeling defeated. My mom could not stop the judge from sending me to what I mistakenly thought was the worst possible layer of hell. A bitch for a father who leaves me on porches for days and days, each weekend, each year (check out my poem still) or just lies to my face either way he’s more than know for abandoning me. Jake the fucking snake. Or the stepmom straight out of R.L. Stein. But they were not even close to the worst, and I would soon learn. I packed my bags and headed to Jakes apartment for what was supposed to be a few weeks visit.
For once I really wish my evil stepmother was there this night and he had just lied about their goodbyes. We went to Uncle Heath’s the evil stepmother’s brother and somehow snake’s best friend. He had a wife, a bug infested house, and a bunch of dirt covered kids. The worst thing in the house was not there because of him. Enter the devil himself at just 17 with teeth sticking horizontally out of the vile thing known as his mouth. He’d touch me under the table with his toes through my pants in the kitchen, while his mom bragged about his large member claiming it put her husbands to shame. I tried and tried to tell, pinch me with his toes until i was quiet from fear. Would hold me down as soon as the adults left out of there. He would touch me all over under my clothes, always stopping before “taking it too far” as if he hadn’t already with a child my age, as an almost man.
I wish I could say that was the end. I begged and begged every time to not have to go to Heath’s but hadn’t told on him. He’d growl at me and threaten to end what life I did have. Jake was usually pretty smart on the pervy way some guy’s minds work…I wonder why. anyway, he’d always tell the devil no when he would ask to stay the night with me. Until that Christmas Eve. The Devil asked and my fucking “dad” said yes knowing it was only us two and now three so my brothers wouldn’t be there to hear anything. My dad got us to his apartment building told devil man to stay in the living room and to leave me be. Jake the snake was always good at one thing sleeping. The devi snuck in and raped me in my brother’s race car bed. I didn’t think it would ever end, he slapped me around, threatened my mother, and left out the door. Although I watched him get up, I never stopped feeling his weight crushing me.
I waited up all night for Jake to awake, and when I told him what happened He slapped me in the face, called me a whore, sent me out the door to the stoop to wait for my mom. This was Christmas day in 7th grade. I sat on the porch while it snowed and couldn’t shed a tear with my Christmas presents in piles unopened laying on the ground. For years I wish I had never said a thing. I told my mom at the age of 19. As sad as it is to say the reaction she had, the emotions, the pain finally told me everything. To my dad I never meant anything. My mom went after him of course. He lied and said I never told him, and pretended he was going to press charges all those years later, and still never did. Still closer to the man who raped his daughter than he ever was to her.
This story gets a happy ending finally. The devil went back to hell where he should have always stayed. And my brother thinks he’s a good man, and wonders why I don’t talk to any of them.
Thank you Mr. Matthew Mitchell. I sure hope you do better to protect your daughters than supporting the likes of a rapist even in death. To circle back around I started writing to escape the vicious rape at the hands of an almost adult, who was introduced to me as my cousin. This need to escape through writing grew as did I. While the size of the things I was writing to hide from began to shrink. I may be passed a lot of feelings this used to stir but I’ll still piss on this man’s grave.
Much Love Forever to everyone but my father, Axton N. O. Mitchell @Poeaxtry_
