This past weekend I participated in the Muslim Student Association Showdown. This is the second year in a row that the UTK MSA has hosted students from different states to come compete in sports, arts, trivia and literary competitions. The theme for the weekend was “The Struggle is Real.”

Usually that phrase is preceded by a hashtag and accompanied with a first world problem, but for a lot of young Muslims living in America, it can really be a struggle. With teams coming from as far as St. Louis and Baltimore, to as close as Nashville and Atlanta, it served as a great way for young people going through the same struggles to connect with one another. There was a spoken word portion of the competition where I performed a personal piece that I had written. I ended up winning first place with the piece ( which I still don’t understand how, shout out to Naeem Baig and Drost Kokoye). I have been encouraged to share my piece here in my column so here it is.

“Ripped”

As a child, mama painted my mind with African Majesty

Daddy sculpted Black pride into my heart

Then they mixed in some faith to complete the work art

I am Ripped

Or you could say that I am torn

Between the world I know nothing of

The world, I am afraid to fall in love with

And the world where my soul was born

Without Justice

You Know they tell you about the slave ships

The long trip across the ocean

The crack of the whip and

The hardships that came along with having

A flat nose and big lips

I am ripped

In grade school we learn about “history”

Bleached in a picture perfect world where

Black is wack and White is alright

They say they are color blind

As I am a shell of an outline

Where someone forgot to color in between the lines

Blind to the Aura before their naked eyes

Blind to this faith from the divine

So close but at times left so far far behind

Without Justice

I see them, living “young wild and free” as they say and

In some small way I still want to be them

Wouldn’t it be so easy to breezy and bea u tiful

But what’s it mean to be beautiful if you can’t be you

I am ripped

Use another food reference to describe the tone of my skin

Because you know I just can’t get enough of your objectification

Tell me how I taste in this white washed world

Where my culture is served bite size so you can swallow it easier

Without Justice

It is obvious in this day and age my presence is too loud too pronounced

In this day and age my presence is too proud to pronounced

I dare to have the audacity to demand justice

To defy the oppressors that cling so tightly to the word

I am Ripped

Defined during a time where my place would have been on my hands and knees scrubbing the master’s floor or maybe more

During a time where god’s words justified my filthy state

There’s that word again, justice

Without Justice

They say keep your head down, do well in school

Maybe then you might survive

Maybe then you can go out and bring your brothers and sisters back some justice

Don’t rock the boat, don’t speak too loud,

Don’t turn those ripples into waves, because then you will feel the mighty fist of justice

I am ripped

It’s relative, based on your race, religion, or societal class

You can either get a pass, or have it pass between your eyes and through your skull

Leaving you drenched in the scarlet flow of justice

It’s almost poetic

I am ripped without justice but I am here

And as much as you want me to I will not disappear

I’ll stand with my hands up

And when I’m good and done and my battle is won

I

will mend.

Hawa Henderson is a senior in microbiology. She can be reached at [email protected].