Dear Ivanka

Dear Ivanka,

I don't know why I write to you;
I don't know why anyone writes to you.

I find it hard to imagine you care.

And yet...

This could be the story where the princess discovers her own inner invincibility, and defeats her wicked father.

Where she realizes she is the pea
under her own thousand thousand - dollar mattresses.

Where she realizes that,  truly, the beast is the only one responsible for beastness.
Where she finally sees the frog is still a frog, once kissed.

Ivanka, Ivanka! 
Let down your
(Color treated)
(Genetically enhanced )
(Weave)
Long hair!

Ivanka, if the crystal shoe fits, wear it;
please remember the lottery of birth.

Ivanka!  Whose influence could buy houses for dozens of veterans!

Ivanka!  Whose dresses could be traded to feed several starving villages.

Ivanka!  Whose art collection could fully fund a hundred underfunded schools! 

Ivanka!  Whose family is not like yours or mine. 

Dear Ivanka, what if I really wrote you a letter?

                      ...if it was written in gold ink?

                      ...if it was written on paper of the finest quality?

                      ...if it was written by someone more (in)famous than myself?

Dear Ivanka, I see you are not following me on Instagram.

   (Could I blame you for that? I can hardly follow myself!)

Ivanka!  Whose word could be worth so much--
                           but is worth so very little.

              Whose voice could be the voice for so many--
                           but whose silence is complicity.
              Whose presence is false hope.
              Whose Trump card has been played.
              Who has been played, herself, and is being played right now.

Dear Ivanka,
   How long will you spin that straw into gold--
                  and at what cost?