“The Savior Game” — A Poem

Who told you
That you could speak for me?
After all, your tongue
Can’t even move smoothly
Over the sounds and letters
Of my name,
Who told you
That you could pitch
Imaginary bars around me,
Looming high,
Turn me into a false prisoner
And have ignorance comply
To be the watch guard,
That you could
Look down upon me
Dart eyes of pity,
And then use me as
For your wars,
Wars that stifle women
With death
And drone attacks
That mark little girls
The age of Malala
With deep gashes,
I have not seen you in
Lines of protests
For those crimes,
Who said it was okay
To undermine me
Treat my empowerment
As some rarity
As though Fatima Al Fihry,
Tawakkal Kariman
And Woroud Sawalha
Cease to have ever existed,
Somehow you have thought
It’s okay to bleach
Books of names
Till the only one left
To read is Mona Eltahawy
Who does not define me,
If there is any oppression
At all, it is in this;
It is in stamping out
Our voice,
In robbing us
Of dignity,
It is in acting like savior
To women who are
Already free.

Submitted by Jaweerya Mohammad, a student at Rutgers University.

image credit: rapturedmind