The End of the Election as Reflected by Donald Trump Through Ivanka Trump
The Crying Game Begins
It has been an amazing journey. My father wanted to be president. This was never supposed to happen. But it did. You forced us to comply and we did because it was an incredible opportunity.
Now the charade is over and the cards have been dealt.
We never meant to destroy America but we did it for the glory of democracy and the magnificent power of free will. We are rich and privileged and we have built a vast empire that will continue to infect your generations for many more generations to come.
We never wanted this. We never asked to be bequeathed with the injustice of tampering with justice as it pertains to the meek and mild. But, we are rich enough to get what we want and you are weak enough to give us permission to assault you with what we don’t have to offer.
My father never wanted this. I wanted it more than he did.
We deserved to be in the White House because we’ve bulldozed less prominent heirlooms for much less. Why not go for the top? Also, we aren’t racist, despite the climate of hate that follows us like the plague that we aren’t trying to eradicate.
Why should we?
This institution was built to feed the cowardly lions that roam with agendas that read like the bible but tempt the devil out of retirement. How dare you blame my father for the unreasonable way of things when he was honestly tossed into the den to fight the other beasts — that will continue to attack long after his ballot is dried up with the prominent tears of the lost ones.
Everyone is lost.
You should be grateful that Donald Trump, my father, demonstrated exactly how fucked you are, because; the American Dream would’ve remained an attainable quest that lies to you whenever you request entry.
Now, you know what I knew all along, except the reality of things adds more dollar signs and an extra room in my penthouse. Sorry, but it is the truth.
When all is said and done, my family’s millions will assuage the reversible damage that alighted our journey to something that was clearly beyond our scope of understanding — or maybe it wasn’t within the grasp of a man that wanted to encrust his legacy with the familiarity of greatness — that all men desire in those moments of reflection.
I also reflect on the past and future and I see the Trump card being dealt again — sooner rather than later.
Till then, we will allow America to heal after the tumultuous heaping of truth that my father helped to instigate.
You know his ascension is just a symptom of the greater evil that dwells in the fabric that was sewn with precision while White people were sleeping The African-Americans and The Latinos were awake — praying away their daily manna — on behalf of the ones that were watching from above — waiting for the right moment to assume the role of spirited descendant in the sphere of a nationalized chaos.
Your cries and tears won’t deter the momentum of fear and abandonment that helped to give Donald Trump — my father, the streak of a martyr — shrouded in a business suit and with the millions that appear on demand for the Americans who are White and desperate for the answer to the Black president who was too perfect for their liking.
Enjoy the woman you’ve toasted.
She will fulfill the long overdue quota that even though I recognize with the surge of my womanhood — serves as the same offering my father would’ve gathered with callings of the apprentice — he hoped to groom in your full view.
The crying game begins.
My tears come down for the broken who will be repaired by the realization that he brought hope to the racist bastards that torment your disposition but reignite his passion — for the benefit of the hope that he could be the torch light to their darkness. They hate being in the dark. It’s not personal.
History will be made — and once again it won’t jolt your expectations. I will console my father with that truth. The end was the best thing for us and I understand that.