Some of you look at me
As I walk down the street
Wonder where I am from
Whether my tongue knows the language
Some question my background
My family
Wonder why I am covered
Ask about the heat under my head cover
About the reason I have it on
Do you have hair?
Were you forced?
Someone even asked if I had ears
I am listening to you aren’t I?
But these are innocent, naïve, silly questions
Ones that I’ll laugh at as I answer
But there are others who won’t ask questions as I pass
They’ll say they know me
Assume they know my background
And my language
Assume they understand my culture
And my heritage
Use that word that starts with a ‘T’
Talk about the day those buildings collapsed
And then call me a towel-headed, tight pinned, dark skinned, oppressed woman.

Let me clarify this to you before you go on an assume
Let me explain to you the language that occupies my tongue
The memories that occupy my mind
Restrain it from forgetting
I speak the language of a fighter
Of someone whose heritage involves occupation and apartheid
I am a woman who’s watched F-16s throw down missiles
And take down homes
I am a woman who’s had family on the verge of death
But not dying
I am a woman who’s walked across checkpoints
Had soldiers search my purse and my pride
And watched as they called for the young man standing behind me
Tied his arms behind his back
Took away his dignity
Without asking if he had a family, a mother, a father, a child
I am a woman who cried to them to take me instead
For they don’t know about the strength I have
They can tie my hands behind my back
Pin me to the wall
Stick my feet to the ground
Take away my right to move as I want
Throw me behind barricaded walls
And they won’t know that I’ll still have my one and only strength
My one and only power
One that extends far behind my feet or hands or this cell wall I am in
They’ll forget about my voice
The voice that they will never have the strength to strip away
Because they’ll be too busy called me a towel-headed, tight pinned, dark skinned, oppressed woman.

This hijab on my head
Does not oppress me
Rather it makes you look at me (mind)
Instead of looking at me (body)
It lets you know I am proud of my religion, proud of my deen
And that 5 times I day I bow down to my knees
So let go of your assumptions
Let go of your objections
And let me answer your questions
Because I am not a towel-headed, tight pinned, dark skinned, oppressed woman.
I am an 18 year old, confident, Arab-American Muslim poet.