I Am That Woman

Why Donald Trump Scares Me

You pinned me to the ground and raped me while I bled.
You made me relive it; covered it up, twisted my words. I remember. Do you?
You held scissors to my throat, threatening to push if I cried.
You pulled my hair from its roots while you were drunk. You don’t remember. I do.
You spit in my face and called me a whore because I said no.
You told me I was fat while I wore size zero clothes.
You told me I’m ruining this country. You didn’t know I am Hispanic, the daughter of an immigrant.
You called me a bimbo because I had blonde hair and big breasts.
You objectified me then denied it when I called you out.
You asked me to look the other way when it was your job to look out for me.
You were embarrassed to be seen with me when the chemo made my hair fall out.
You cheated within the sanctity of marriage.
You call me a snowflake and forget that together we create a blizzard…
And you’ve never been a woman yet have the audacity to tell me how I should feel.

Then you ask why Donald Trump scares me?
You ask me why his supporters are no friends of mine?
And when I tell you…
He fooled you into voting for a sexual predator.
He fooled you into cheering on a xenophobe.
He fooled you into endorsing a racist.
He fooled you into supporting a misogynist.
He fooled you into valuing the almighty dollar over humanity.
He fooled you into betraying your daughters. Your sons.
He fooled you into choosing division.
He fooled you into choosing hate.
He convinced you to convince yourself this is somehow permissible…
You deny it as if the truth hasn’t been in front of you to witness the entire time.
You ask me to stand by and accept the depravity.
You ask me to wait.
And you don’t accept ‘no’ as my answer.

But I am here to tell you:


I will not wait to see what happens.
I will not get over it.
I will not sit in silence.
I am not that woman.

You may mock.
You may try to break me.
You may show your true colors.

I will raise my voice.
And I will stand.

I am THAT woman.