I grew up with a mother
who wore a piece of cloth
over her hair.
It was just another part of her,
like her gentle blue eyes
and morning prayers.

But as I became older
The childhood filter faded away
and I heard what people would say,
and wouldn’t say.

5-letter insults were not as bad as the sharp stares
that shredded the pride I had for my mother.
But the questions aimed at her
-rarely inquisitive
and mostly insensitive-
haunted me everywhere.

‘Do you ever wash your hair?’
‘Are you bald?’
“Do you have a bomb under there?
‘Do you sleep with that on?”
“CAN YOU HEAR OKAY UNDER THERE?”

I began to detest
that piece of cloth
that labeled us as ‘oppressed’
and screamed- never whispered-
that we were different, odd,
Wrong.

Now, I am proud
of this piece of cloth
that has enough heart and bravery
to defy society’s conception of beauty
to declare the existence of modesty
and to scream- not whisper-
I am Muslim,
different, beautiful,
Strong.

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More on author: www.facebook.com/linaabojaradehart

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