november two

(a response to november second)

In this cage, she finds her freedom. She dances for herself. She dances for money. She dances to take back power from men. She flaunts her exposed body. She taunts them. She makes them yearn for her, but they cannot have her. She is safe from them in her cage and she goes home alone night after night – strong independent feminist. In this cage, she finds her freedom.

In this cage, she finds her freedom. She is covered from head to toe in her traditional vestments, only her eyes see the world. Only her eyes do the world see. Her facial expressions cannot betray her because they have no one to tell. Her curves are not violated by trespassing eyes. She does not waste time and money and energy worrying about what she is going to wear, day in and day out. She does not have to agonize over every piece of clothing, analyzing its effects on those around her. Her clothes cannot betray her because they do not say anything. She is safe in her cage, safe in her mystery – liberated Muslim woman. In this cage, she finds her freedom.

In this cage, she finds her freedom. Sure, she didn’t volunteer to be here. And she sure doesn’t dictate her own comings and goings. And sure, she killed a man. But she is free. Free from the bruises. Free from the broken ribs. Free from pitying glances at the grocery store when his fury happened to land on her face the night before. Free from the name calling. Free from the smell of booze. Free from all the crying, all the fear, all the hate. And the world, freed from him. Her little attempt to save the world – the righter of wrongs. In this cage, she finds her freedom.