You judge me by what's on my head,
So convinced by the rumors which the channels spread.
You call me imprisoned, you call me oppressed,
merely because of the way I'm dressed.
How little do you know about with what I've been blessed.
You assume that I'm used, bruised and abused.
Yet, I let your misjudgment be excused,
think maybe you're just confused.
Perhaps, you never glanced on the inside,
but judged simply from the hair I hide.
You call it the thing on your head.
For all u know, you've been misled.
Hijab is more than just a piece of cloth, more than a fabric wrapped around my head.
It's my choice, my freedom, my identity.
It gives me a sense of security.
It's a gift from my Allah,
in the form of an opportunity,
To be recognized for more than my looks,
which in your definition is beauty.
Beauty isn't defined by the tone of one's skin.
As appearances can be deceptive,
true beauty comes from within,
You may disagree but that's just a matter of perspective.
Wearing the hijab is no man's order,
but a law of my beloved creator.
I'm honored, not forced.
How many more times do you need to be told?
Written by Amna Balouch