Yasmine Tadross

These days, I wake up in the morning and all I know is a deep anger for the world  and my surroundings filled with fair trade coffee and loving the idea of girls like me but discarding me when I am fully visible  My rage is never valued  As an Afro- Egyptian, black, hairy, trans woman  I often think that all I am to be is angry  I keep thinking that the world will fail me So I figured that I might beat them to the punch  I will just reject every human who encounters me  Drag them before they even say anything The only way that love can come about is if we validate our own rage When we fucking scream before we reach a state of compassion My rage will not be silenced Neither the rage of intersectionally marginalized people because silence never protects us I have lost most of my hope for this country But I love this country enough, though it does not love me back I love it enough to critique the living shit out so I can help...

In moments when the printer get jammed with paper I bang my head against the wall to numb the pain The thoughts of certain people help me carry on through the day To you, Your blue eyes, thick black frame glasses, and brown hair Sitting across from you on Saturday mornings drinking allowed me to be calm when we say goodbye I always seem to extend the hug longer and hold onto you because I am afraid what it would be like when you're gone I know we can never be more than friends but, I think I like being friends I know that whatever will happen, you will be with me I just hope you feel the same about me To my mothers, sisters, and siblings on the East Coast, Thank you for being one of the few women to truly embrace me From the baggage to the light blue lipstick Dunkin Donut coffee runs That brings joy to time that was an uphill battle Fantasizing about what tiny house we should buy and where in Colorado should we put You all have shown me what unconditional love l...

Welcome to my self-destruction, Where my brother tells me that he cares, but uses me for his own gain he benefits from my own failures so he can access my parent's love, when he sees my successes he discredits them by finding the slightest imperfections and capitalizing the flaws for his profits Welcome to my self-destruction, Where friends neglect me in the name of progress They care when it suits them, not when urgent I wear my heart on my sleeve I bear my brown hairy womanhood to them but seem to focus on the blue lipstick that I put on Very few actually look at me, I mean look at me Not just the blue and purple dresses, brown hair wigs, and lipstick but the bags under my eyes, the mornings where I can barely get out of bed, the times which I look in the mirror and not even recognize what I am or hating myself so much to the point I start to hate others At least with my brother, he is open about what he does Dear world, You have all failed me and I h...

Why do we deny ourselves pain? Rage is a figment of our imagination The idea of taking an old brown wooden chair and bash it towards our oppressors' backs seems like a dream in which one day, I can take a deep breath without my arms and my legs twitching the idea that the people who have called me a faggot, sand nigger, disgusting, and terrorist the people who have told my mom to neglect her Arabic tongue and have tried to put her in her place To lay down on the cold, blue, concrete floor drenched in their blood But Rage is something only few can access Mom and I are nothing, but similar in other facets We both have been told to keep our chins up, back straight, and always smile even when your body is too numb to have the lips stretched out into a smile We both don't have a choice At times the only times I get to see the real her is when she calls her mother in Egypt She misses her Spiced Fava Beans, her homemade bread, her willingness to love everyone That is ...