I wish I could whittle down conservatism to all-encompassing evil — something categorical and absolute. I wish I could believe in a devil that possesses the ballot box. I wish I could wrap my arms around easy answers, blinded to the gray tones that slither through everyday life.
But as I converse with the beer-bellies, glued to their barbecues and their bubbling pigs; the apron-wearing mothers of the world who swallow themselves whole; the boy whose developing brain fell down a rabbit hole of poisoned pornography; the kid spoon-fed bigotry while his neighbor chugged pints of vegan non GMO low fat sugar free low cholesterol overpriced Whole Foods ice cream… I realize it is all much more complex.
The gray-headed, couch potatoes who huff and puff about ‘angry women’ and football games are paralyzed in the past. Those who actively vote against my autonomy have a personal set of loving families, sheltered travels, and rigid moral codes. They have built bulletproof walls around the values they were taught, through which no persuasion can penetrate. Not even when these bullets plummet their way into an elementary school — precious rifles in the wrong hands after they slaughter their dinner in the name of hunter-gatherer.
The book they rest their hands upon and the verses they rest their life upon, too afraid to sing the chorus. It is too scary for them to break from, hell, if I believed in eternal damnation I would be petrified too.
In the name of God, In the name of God
36 million women without a say
Without a choice
In the name of God, regression
In the name of God, depression
To the teenage girl who blames herself for the night she can’t remember
To the woman whose hormonal birth control stripped away her lust for life
To the person who turned the mirror inside out
just to find a body that feels right.
In the name of God, alleyways, misplaced aggression.
In the name of God, this warped regression.