They want me to speak. 
They want facts and opinions and statistics. 
They want debate. 
They want to see me scream at the top of my lungs because every time I speak, it's as if no one can hear me. 
They want to see the tears stream down my face so they can discredit me. 
She's only a girl. Of course, she knows nothing.
They want to whip bruises onto my tongue so that when I do speak;
I say only what they want to hear.
But the crack of that whip doesn't scare me.
I refuse to be enslaved by lies.
These tears. They're not tears of fear.
These tears are the words of every murdered child who didn't get the chance to speak. 
These tears are the yells of every mother who lost her baby to their cowardice.
The cowardice of men who face people with machines because they know they could never win the fair battle. 
The cowardice of those who see the oppression and say nothing. 
Those who follow others blindly because they never knew the meaning of true gallantry. 
They want me to speak.
They want me to tell stories that fit into their small boxes.
They want me to twist my own words so that they may be carved into falsehood. 
They want to hold an invisible knife to my throat so that they may block every word of righteousness without anybody knowing. 
But the sharpness of that knife doesn't scare me. 
Don't they know that dying in the face of truth is martyrdom? 
But wait. 
It is true that I am only a girl. 
But I do know something.
I know that this world has ripped my heart into countless pieces. 
I know that with every howl of injustice another knife is plunged into my chest.
I know that my words are only words. 
So perhaps I will speak.
Or perhaps I won't.
But I will never allow a lie to leave my lips.
And perhaps Allah will spare my soul.