My Islam is soft, sitting cross legged in a circle with sisters music jingling like bangles in our teeth, soft hands aspiring to be drums My Islam is broken saying half formed prayers like whispers Arabic tumbling over tongue like the ocean it crossed before it was lost at sea. My hijab, resistant to stay still will never stay tied for a full nimaz My Islam is angry, angry at those who dare to claim my grandmother's faith is violent, is a threat, is a plague, learning that not all sixteen year olds got death threats for their birthday was a rude awakening My Islam is afraid, afraid for fathers, uncles, brothers, cousins who are too brown and too kind to stand a chance in this storm I know real terror in American hate, in European guns while Paris hurts, clumsy, it will spill its anger over the Muslim world and I, a convert to masculinity, am afraid it will spill over me too My Islam is a secret it gets lost under piercings and hair dye under gay flags and denim jeans, if brown sexuality is taboo, I am too loud if gender is made of hard and soft, I come from silence My Islam is full bodied love alcohol prayers in cigarette voices it is naked, screaming, moaning, face me east, wash me clean like vuzu and lay me down like a janimazz, like a prayer mat whisper raqat into my collar bone scream bismillah when you pull my hair, thank God for our mahogany bodies, thank God for this holiness, stand my side and when they tell me I am not holy enough not modest enough, not American enough ask them how could something this gorgeous this full of light, this full of love could ever be haram, ever be wrong My Islam is Justice it is candle light soft and protest loud My Islam says Collective Liberation is the closest thing to Junnah that I've ever seen My Islam screams for dignity, community, solidarity I am at my most holy when I am most true Alhuumdillah to be alive, to be here, to be present to witness this display of faith Alhuumdillah that this is not finished, not over, not even close -an original poem (they/them)
