famata-ouleye

why

Indulge, indulge, indulge

There is a heightened embarrassment to it all, and a mechanical degree of separation.

On one end, I’d like to dissolve into the sensation of being wife, lover, chosen.

alone

in your room

—

The veiled woman looks at the unveiled one with a cocktail of emotion.

One part pity,

one part envy.

One part longing,

one part anger.

To be seen.

To be known and visible.

Taking space in the way

I see them do

In the way

I assume

they do

“I have to style my hair”

“I don’t have any clothes to wear”

I’d take it.

I’d take those anxieties

if it meant an audience

If it meant perception

It’d be easy to say

the grass is never as green

as you’d like,

but what does that do

for the questions

the wonder

I wouldn’t be new

without the hijab

I’d still be me.

Would I?

I’ve known myself

as hijab first

To always chase the state

that would finally

allow me

to feel

god has granted me time

and yet i find my mind lulled back to those four walls

i have done such terrible things in the name of victimhood

i wonder then,

To whom?

If I strip my understandings bare