Good Muslim Girl


Disclaimer: The following is an expression of my thoughts and feelings pertaining problems with the society and mentalities that I am surrounded by. The following in no way is what Islam preaches and should not be taken as a representation of the religion.

I am good Muslim girl.

I wear long skirts and drappy scarves.
It’s hard to run fast in this skirt, but that’s okay. I don’t need to run fast anyway

I am good Muslim girl.
I don’t draw attention to myself, whether it be sexual or me putting my foot down. It doesn’t matter, because all attention is bad attention, even if it means clipping my tongue and feeding it to the birds.
That’s okay, I don’t use my voice anyway.

I am good Muslim girl.
I don’t laugh loud. If I think something is funny, no one will know. In fact, if I think anything at all, no one will know. That’s okay. The only important trait about me is my face and body and how I chose to cloth it. Not anything else, because that would be silly.

I am good Muslim girl.
I don’t look for men for a marriage myself. That would inappropriate. But I also accept my parents rule to get married by age 20. It’s okay. Men will look at me… Except they can’t notice me, because that would bring attention to me and attention is bad. So maybe, I will look for them? But no, I can’t. That not socially acceptable, a women take her life into her own hands. Absolutely outrageous.

I am good Muslim girl.
I will get an education and fill out the any degree of my parent’s choosing. I will struggle to get good grades, stay up nights studying, and finish with perfect GPA. But I will also marry a stranger literally fresh of the boat, and will continue to use my hard earned degreed as a nice paper weight. It’s okay. I only got that education to please everyone except me.

I am good Muslim girl.
I will continue to make my hijab a 6th pillar of Islam, justifying to the entire world why I wear it. Because it is the world’s right to question and prod at me endlessly. I continue to stand smiling and silent, too scared to utter a word of protest. That would draw attention and attention is bad. That would displease the strangers around me that have more of a say in my life than myself. To hear the thoughts raging across my eyes with such energy it burns if I don’t blink them away fast enough. Threatens to take away from sight all together. But it’s okay, I don’t need thoughts or sight. I have no use for them. They would only displease. The thoughts would boil over, gushing out of eyes in the form of liquid wisdom. Only to be wiped away, forgot almost instantly, never seen. never hear. Never uttered from my mouth. For my mouth is not a tool to be used but just an adornment with a perfect Cupid bow to add to the aesthetics of my face.

My face. My only feature deemed important enough to nurture.

And by nurture, I mean chain my self esteem to. my self worth too.
By nurture I mean, raise an unhealthy obsession with being beautiful.
But as a women, that’s all I should achieve to be. Beautiful.
As a women, I am
Nothing more than my face.

I apologize. I let the Truth slip. I mean my thoughts. I mean… What did I mean?
I’m sorry, is it already forgotten?

I am good Muslim girl.

By Anonymous


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