Donald Trump is the weakest man to ever wield the full weight of the American presidency.

That is not an opinion. It is the only conclusion left to draw after watching a man so incapable of leadership, so devoid of empathy, so pathologically insecure that his every action is an act of theater—performed not to govern, but to mask the fact that he has no idea how.

And yet somehow, in the upside-down hellscape of his movement, this is sold as strength.

The arrogance? The cruelty? The refusal to listen to experts, allies, or even common sense? His unshakable belief that governing is simply shouting louder than the truth?

To his cult, that’s not failure. That’s alpha. That’s toughness. That’s leadership.

But it’s not. It’s cowardice behind a power tie.

Trump has no vision. No steady hand. No plan for the future that extends past his reflection. So instead, he demands loyalty like a mob boss and rage-tweets like a drunk ex-boyfriend. He doesn’t command respect—he extorts it, from underlings too scared to speak and a base too brainwashed to blink.

This is not strength.

It’s theater for weak men who love a strongman.

And what makes this not just pathetic but dangerous is that he still holds the power to shape lives, destroy futures, and ignite global chaos.

He still has the nuclear codes.

He still has armed loyalists.

He still has a nation of bootlickers willing to call a tantrum “strategy” and a press conference meltdown “dominating the narrative.”

He doesn’t care about the country. He can’t.

He doesn’t know how.

Empathy is alien to him. Humility is impossible.

And governing? That’s a job for grownups. He’s never applied.

He rules by spectacle because he has no substance.

He demands applause because he cannot tolerate truth.

And the more people laugh—foreign leaders, citizens, even his own staff—the more furious and unstable he becomes. Because every joke, every crack in the illusion, reminds him that he is not a king.

But he wants to be.

And that’s why we should all be afraid.

Because when a weak man starts to lose control of his fantasy, he doesn’t let go—he lashes out. And when he has power? That lash can turn into real violence, real devastation, real harm to real people.

So no, his bluster isn’t strength. His ego isn’t confidence.

It’s just armor for a hollow man.

A scared man.

A small man.

A man who would rather see the nation burn than admit he was never worthy of it in the first place.

And the tragedy is, that man still sits on a throne of levers, and there are still millions of Americans calling his collapse a “comeback.”

We are not ruled by a tyrant.

We are haunted by a coward.

And your silence is taken as permission.

But remember: a haunting only lasts as long as the house stays quiet. So make noise. Speak truth. Drive this specter of weakness out with good trouble. Refuse to let this little man destroy everything we should be standing for.

We can be louder than the lies.