Look at me . . .
Hear what I have to say.
Open your eyes. Listen for once.
The oppression you fear,
The suppression you feel,
The depression you fall into, All you do for me;
None are wanted or necessary.
Are welts from chains or a husband’s hand imprinted upon my face?
Are my modest glances skittering here and there in trepidation?
Are tears of pain coursing down my face?
Search my face.
You will find inner peace revealed.
Retrace my modest posture.
From the smooth, unhurried movements;
a confident woman will emerge.
Listen carefully to my soft spoken voice.
Serenity will be woven through each syllable.
I tell you . . . look at me.
I am not oppressed, suppressed, nor depressed.
I am a veiled woman of my own choice, conscience, and rightful cause.