The hijab on my head.
Bright colors or floral prints.
People notice it.
Many see me as a modest girl,
Others assume I am a terrorist.
The Islamic society sees my two-year-old hijab,
Gossiping about me not wearing it properly.
The Azan goes off and my hijab comes on,
The solemn prayers I pray and the weeping I weep,
For only Allah knows how much this cloth means to me.
No, I'm never forced to wear it,
and yes I've abandoned my hair.
For only my creator will see the true colors of me.
The beauty my creator created is me.
For I must cover not for your hateful words,
but for only my Allah I please.