Diary of a Mad Brown Trans Woman

I live in a world where the representation is greater than the reality,
My body is limited to my lipstick and a pill
that one injects every day
When neither is on me my body can't obtain the experience
My identity goes beyond a pussy hat
I have African Roots with the Arabic tongue
I hear the drums rain
And my grandmother's spicy foul medemas is in my blood
With our daily bread
When one can't find community,
They spend money that they don't have
because the only thing capitalism is good for is feeding off the lonely
I was born in a post 9/11 nonnormative female body
Where my lifespan does not go beyond the age of 24
Our image is only seen as five slashes and a gunshot to the head
and bliss is just an illusion

My liberation does involve going to a big city
Where white gay men think your obsessed with RuPaul's Drag Race
and your identity revolves around spending money on Maybelline cosmetics
When one can't find community,
You just grab the bits and pieces of yourself and formulate your own
To create a garden of people that is as colorful and vibrant
as the world that I hope for:
The world where I am my brown skin and womanhood is valid no matter what I where
because my identity goes beyond hormones and surgery
It is a forming reflection of my passing grandmother
who kept my family together even when the foundation was crumbling
her cooking and her touch helped me cope with my trauma
and her gift of making so much out of so little reflects the pain that I share with her

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Honest

My name is Yasmine or Yas I am a black hairy woman human plus lots of different things and yes I can still be confused about myself, I like it that way! It allows me to be open-ended I have depression Suicidal ideations Bipolar disorder Insomnia Anxiety and distorted thoughts (Essentially a red flag for OkCupid!!) I am independent on the outside Strutting my heels on crowded sidewalks not giving a fuck if people stare at me because in the end, I know that the world wants to have erotic sex in public with me but on the inside I want people to put their arms around me and tell me that everything will be ok, even when it seems like it's not I can never be happy with anything and no matter what happens, I will always feel empty I feel like the world hates me most days But I have friends that love me for my past, present and future all at the same time My greatest fear is that all my friends will get sick of me and leave me I feel like people see me and think ...
Read more

Femmehood

When I think of Femmehood,  I think of girls like me, who may not have the money to stealth, or the resources to drag it up. But we are limitless.⠀ ⠀ We are the ones that create divine futures for each other out of the scraps and rubble left for us.   The ones that create riots that are bigger than space and time.  A movement to uphold the notion that liberating Black trans womxn is liberation for all of us.  Girls like us understand that femmehood is lineage and kinship, not a body part.  We recognize the majority of the world disposes of us, but we are anointed.  We are our ancestors’ wildest dreams I don't want a world where Black Trans Lives  just matter That our histories and our presence are praised like shrines; in which the offerings are given back to the altar 100 fold.
Read more

My Sweet Melancholy

My Sweet Melancholy,  You are rare. You are the type of girl that can't be replaced.  The one that will always be an inconvenience to the masses. You are cheerful and warm by day, but after every meeting, headline, and black body that dies for existing, you turn somber. You have the ability to be brilliant off of 2% battery life. Sweet Melancholy, You constantly grieve because the boys that you romantically like will never come, because you often desire the ones that will hurt you the most. In this world, we are taught that love will cost you, rather than be free. But right now, when everything is so isolated, womanhood being negotiated, and people are dying faster than leaves falling from a tree in early autumn, people holding you sounds nice. Sweet Melancholy, Everything that you are feeling is real. You are crushing on a black boy while grieving the loss of Ahmoud Arbery. You are angry at the world, yet angry at yourself. You feel like you have been trying to catch up to ev...
Read more