Dear Mr. President,

Let’s take a walk and discuss our ideas; let’s not be irrational and leave America up to the coin. I try to stay levelheaded as you tell your tales, but your corruption of the White House is turning Lincoln from bronze to dirt.

You took our game of Life and turned it into Monopoly, with you overtaking Park Place, while the rest of us take 10 steps back. Go to jail is being used too often. Pay the bank, be in debt, and jump back to that hellhole we once promised we’d save you from.

Don’t worry, inequality for everyone who isn't a rich, white, male doesn’t suit our agenda. How will we survive this plague when you’ve taken away all of our vaccines?

Now stripping away all humanity, you say you’re a businessman, but setting flames to allies loses trade and trust. When the wave towers over your head, shadows cover all that is left behind in your wake.

You preach justice, while our taxes are the advancement of your horrid empire. I only hear distant cries and the crackling of bones that you’ve paraded on with your hooves because dignity is also a foreign concept.

But I think we could agree, from one human to another, that saving a family from demise by allowing them to work the assembly line is a sacrifice we'd be willing to make, instead of leaving it to the machinery and "technological advancements" you call American jobs.

If you truly believe in 3/5th of a human, then I deem you not even 1/5th of a man. Regressing to domestic abuse is not humane, nor is stripping a woman of her choice!

You say the votes were unfair, and you’re not wrong. But even after turning Middle Easterners away at the polling sites because to you they’re not "real Americans," you still lost to 3 million activists. So how dare you stand tall?

Because my friends are not just Muslims or women or people of color. They are more than your intolerable acts. They are not terrorists, but refugees running from the very terror you set in their eyes because they see past that self-righteous disguise. They only see a boy busy fighting in the sandbox.

My friends are not objects, nor hair, nor boobs, nor pussies, and I dare you to grab them by the HAND and attempt to walk them down the path of oppression.

Because, Mr. President,

These are people who don’t need your yellow, brick road, as they know you've hidden the gold behind your curtain of gloating. They question your lack of a brain and heart, as they see past your cowardliness.

They are ready to hear the winds whistle and watch the tornadoes roar. Thunder courses through their veins and lightning is their source of survival. So the next time you step out of Kansas, and into the rain, you'll feel the tears of all the people you’ve left behind, and you will hear my voice.

With the crackling of your skull, that façade you've held onto for so long starts to crumble. And I will only feel sorry for the broken states you've dragged down with you.

And so Mr. President,

I will never stand with you. Let alone take a walk with you.