Yasmine Tadross

To my Insecurities, I just wanted to let you know that I love you.  That I apologize that most of your life, people have hurt you.  Being raised in a post 9/11 era, though I didn't immigrate to this country, my body has been treated as foreign. By both white and brown communities. I didn't grow up having friends, didn't go to sleepovers, high school parties, or tailgates. I sat alone and created worlds in which my body was not discarded like an empty plastic cup, but I was queen.  That I walked into rooms and everyone would turn heads.  In which if someone was policed, communities came to the rescue.  You see, I wasn't born in the wrong body, I was born in a world that is scared of what I am capable of. Now that I have obtained community and western forms of "success", I am afraid. I am afraid of losing my loved ones.  To lose connection. That at some point they will find better people and leave me.  People don't realize that

$95 million to each resident of West Garfield Park is roughly $5343.52, that is not nearly enough for reparations, however, the cop academy is reverse Robin Hood; give to the reach, displace the poor, and leave them with nothing. A cooperative food shop and community gardens would be open on every single block to feed the masses. Their bellies will be full and youth won't have to be reminded that whiteness is the only way to be nourished.  Every person would have at least their own 400 sq ft paradise. To be reminded that housing is not a commodity, it is a human right. It is essential to life and as vital like honey; it pollinates, rejuvenates, and spreads the sweetness from generation to generation. Without housing, there is no community.  Arts, education, and community centers would be open and will teach black and brown youth that they are royalty. That your life is a throne and should be praised by many. To understand that you don't have to grow up so quickly. Your lif

It was Sunday morning, I was walking out the La Salle stop on the blue line, wearing green lipstick, a cat wing, black eye shadow, skirt, It was the first time in a while where I felt the magic word, "pretty"! Then someone looked at me and yelled "Disgusting Dirty Faguet". The worst part was that everyone remained complicit within that stop. No one wanted to protect me, it was as if my body was a vampire; my reflection was for everyone's consumption, but my own. Realizing that no matter what my friends think, the rest of the world will see me as disposable. We have an epidemic of trans people of color being murdered. Our bodies are deemed worthy of our own violence. We have systematically and nicely colonized sexuality and gender to only desire the very few. To tell us that our bodies are DDFs To every queer and trans person of color, Your life span is beyond the age of 25. You deserve to see your own reflection, whatever that may be. You s