This poem was originally posted on my Substack on January 18, 2026.
The poem was written during the course of ICE’s occupation of the Twin Cities in Minnesota (“Operation Metro Surge”); shortly after federal agent Jonathan Ross shot and killed legal observer Renee Nicole Good; and in the context of widespread media coverage of The Epstein Files, including the dissemination of first person accounts by victims of the abuse they experienced at the hands of Jeffrey Epstein, Donald Trump, and other public figures.
The original post can be viewed here.
Truth to power.
January 16, 2026.
You want us to shut up and comply.
You want us scared shitless, hiding at home.
You believe we’re less than human.
But you don’t say it straight. You twist it
into us, instead. A corkscrew to the kidney.
We can’t filter out the poison like we used to.
I don’t know what’s real anymore.
A decade ago this would’ve made
a great dystopian thriller. I’d’ve loved it.
But watching is different from living.
I knew it was bad, but there’s nothing
quite like feeling the horror play out
in real time.
It’s endless. Mind-numbing.
I stare blankly at the wall, listening to a survivor
recount atrocities. I forget to take my meds.
The next day I can’t function. (But I have to.)
I eat clementines, and do my PT exercises,
and try to remember to brush my teeth.
I go to the doctor. He tries to convince me
to take weight loss meds. I refuse.
They want us sick and skinny.
I’d rather be strong. And even if not,
I’d rather die well fed. I’d rather my body
be a flipped finger than an acquiescence.
I scream. And I do laundry. I watch the videos
(the evidence). I wonder if I shouldn’t
just retire from bearing witness.
It’s a grueling job. I’ve done it a long time now.
I throw away recyclables, in exhaustion,
and wonder if I’m the problem.
Just the way they want me to.
