Stone walled by TV. Cluttered by greed and envy. Stuck and uptight in today’s society. Inside turning circles in your fake reality. I can see you. Exposed and uncovered. Flattering and sassy. Cleavage shots all day…flashing them daringly in men faces. I see your short skirts, legs on high. You’ve got style and no man has passed you by. At the bar, you’re a rock star.
All I can do is stare. From the corner of your eye; you know that I see you too. I wonder why is it that you feel like a fool. It is because I can see through you. Yea, men pass me by. I’m not the hot topic of men’s conversation and my hijab is flawless. My style has me up on rise. You can’t top that, even if you were high. I can see that you think that I am lame…funny tho, the guy you took home doesn’t remember your name. Wait…let me guess, you think that I’m oppressed. Oppressed by who? By you?I’ll pass as you continue to give someone who doesn’t respect you more ass. Your failure to see your oppression has you running circles as you wear your ass backwards. Trust, I’m not flattered. In that guy’s eyes you don’t even matter.
Truth speak it, so says the dumb. So, ask yourself who are you really running from. Fooled by TV. But not fooled by me. You see, darling I am free. I’m comfortable inside my own skin, without showing skin. Trump that. Don’t pity me, cause it’s you who I pity the most. Girls with no direction, showing so much skin thinking your classy. Please stop acting. I am cherished by more than a few. With my head held higher than you. My family calls me beautiful. I am daddy’s little girl. My beauty is sincere. A quality that I know you truly fear.
In the dark, you wonder where our secret lies. With Allah, which is why we don’t hide. I wear hijab with glory. You wear nothing and that’s not a real story. Stutter, non-sense, glued up barbie. Miss me with your frowns, you know Islam hardly. Muslimah is who I be. First name Noor, next name Safoorah. Light, God-fearing woman.
Oppression is a mind state, to not see or understand a woman’s true design. Retract that sentence and it will give you no peace of mind. My style, sharper than your spine. Please forgive me, but you know I’m not telling you lies. I’m not here to falter those who don’t matter. So, cause me no harm with your words. Cause Allah knows that your absurd. Please, ”Being” that claims to be a woman. My modesty will always be your fumble. Fable, tin cup, make-up child. You should look up to me, cause I can show you how. My modesty is my honor.
By Editor, LaLa “Noor Safoorah” Garcia