I’m a hot pink liberal with an arts degree. My voice is soft. I got a bow in my basement for rainy days.
I’m not whimsical or special, but my heart is displayed prominently on my blue collar. Handstands come before breakfast on my daily planner.
You won’t hear me vocal frying about flaccid peace, love and healing the divide. If that jazz makes you feel safe, there are plenty of mystics on the socials with forward head posture, ready to blow faux sunshine up your you know what, so scroll on.
I have big horses to ride and bacon to bring home. Don’t mess.
I will always have an up north accent when we talk about liberty and justice for y’all.
I’m ready to get in your face if you show me your bland comfort is more important to you than the very breath of the less fortunate.
You’ll listen to me because well, I’m likable + sensible.
If you come to my yoga class, no matter what, I’ll do my best to help you heal pain in your body and pain in your stories. I can still care about you. But if you voted Red-In-The-Face, I won’t be the one to sweetly agree to disagree with you.
You don’t want to contribute a little bit of your taxes to feed the hungry, shelter the homeless and save refugees? Stop killing our vibe. Where’s your brotherhood?
Your bigotry exposes you on the wrong side of any religion you claimed to have. I’ll talk behind your back for a minute, wish you well and cease supporting your business. Your loss.
My friends who also voted for Hillary are on the same tactical down low.
If you think the lumbering president elect is going to support our actual troops, you likely think irregardless is a proper word. You probably eat fat free cheese. GTFO.
There’s a hot squeeze in my chest. I believed in her, always. What a shame that history will be kinder to her precisely because she didn’t win.
This is my country. The purple mountains are mine too. I am the kindness of strangers. My side seized the popular vote.
I can live on gas station beef jerky and maraschino cherries.
And I’m not going anywhere, so look out.