The night after Trump won I drank my sanity down.
The club lights pulsed with the beat of the bodies.
I screamed, “FUCK TRUMP!” into a crowd of very white people who yelled back, “FUCK YOU BITCH!”
I didn’t care. I danced on a girl with freedom on my hands.
Her tongue tasted like Jim Beam and fear for her future in this country as a member of the lgbtq+ community,
for her rights being stripped from her.
I kissed her harder tangling my hands in her long locks.
Some blonde chick in cowgirl boots made the comment for us to, “Stop acting gay,”
we flashed her our middle fingers in drunken delight.
We both turned to each other and said we were sorry,
yelling over music that made no sense,
that used derogatory terms that called women names and degraded them.
We shouldn’t have to apologize to each other for being women, for being queer, for being mixed race.
We shouldn’t have to apologize for being what other claim is “different.”
We are not “different” this is our normal.
She took my hand and held it as a circle of hyenas for men formed around us.
Their hands were reaching everywhere,
something Jessica Lead would describe as an octopus.
She pushed one back, he slipped and almost fell,
he laughed and called her “feisty.”
We ended the night with a good luck kiss and her whispering in my ear,
“Thank you for spending the apocalypse with me.”
Savannah Solorio is a fourth year creative writing major at Cal State San Bernardino. She writes both poetry and fiction.