locker room

A prose piece, stream of consciousness. Solidarity.

I see red. There’s a wash of blood in front of my eyes. Blood of the raped, pain of the molested, the assaulted, and the abused.
We own a different war.
This is the difference. I don’t need your f*****g brown-man war.
I don’t need your fear of those who are different from you. I have my own. You are different from me.
You f*****g misogynist f*****g prick. You are my enemy.
I live with my enemies around me each and every day.
I live around the people who throw their penny in the fountain of rape culture.
That f*****g fountain could feed the poor a million times ‘round.
Tell me about how it’s just a little thing, a little comment, harmless, means nothing.
You are my enemy. If you ask me to take up arms against the enemy of the state I would level my cross hairs so that your forehead beamed in front of me. You are the enemy.
Your penny, and all of the pennies before yours created the wealth of degradation that leveled its muzzle against me.
Ask me why I’m so f*****g mad.
Ask me why I don’t share your fear of the refugees, and the welfare cases, and the religious extremists, and the gold diggers, and the thieves.
They are nothing compared with you.
How dare you assume that your neediness, your bigotry, your sloppy hatefulness is somehow less offensive than a dollar out of my paycheck.
May you stand in the midst of your oppressors, those poor people you’re forced to see, forced to feed, and may they force themselves into you, may they disregard your pleas, may you cower below their years of stolen power, and may you know … may you know that when you stand ... 
you stand down.
You will live amongst them, you will live amongst their apathetic supporters, their that’s-not-what-he-meant apologists. I see through you. I see through your “apology”.
It is a coin in the bank of the future. Deposit your insurance, pay it forward, to the patriarchy that you will surely need, that you will so desperately seek, when I take up arms.
Because it’s my 2^nd amendment, too, because the free will of the god you serve is not yours alone.
May your investment in the stock of “locker room talk” come to your defense, save you when the sleeping army that lives alongside of you finally finds the right politician, the right general, and the call to rise up, and finally heeds your call to close the borders, to push out the enemy, to nuke the oppressor.
May it save you … from me.