“I Used to Believe”

by Gemma Flora Ortwerth

I used to believe people were good—

naïve, maybe, but I held it like a flame in my chest.

Now all I see are fists clenched, mouths shouting,

voices raised not in protest but in cruelty,

not to understand, but to silence.

They’d rather force birth

than allow choice.

Rather punish difference

than embrace complexity.

So no—I didn’t have faith when the votes came in.

I predicted the fall.

It’s a damn shame.

We failed—

or maybe we never passed the test to begin with.

The orange man screams “rigged”

while his cult bends knees and morals,

his every sentence soaked in venom.

A toddler with nuclear codes

who’s never stepped inside a thrift store

or met the people he exiles,

whose laws turn lives into rubble.

This was never a great nation.

Just a broken foundation

patched with myths and blood.

And now that myth walks in flesh—

an abomination of greed and ego

that may yet destroy us all.

This isn’t a slippery slope.

It’s a landslide.

A gut-punch.

The air sucked from the room

while our rights are auctioned off

to bigots in suits and tech tycoons

who mock our very existence.

We are not safe.

Not trans people.

Not womb-bearing people.

Not immigrants, disabled, poor, or queer.

Still—

I’m here.

And if you’re here too,

call 988.

Because even now,

even in this void,

it is still a miracle

to exist

on a spinning rock

in a brutal galaxy

and say,

“I’m not done fighting yet.”