Profiled

Wiping the tears from my face

I rolled my carry-on suitcase

into line

glancing back one last time

my parents blew kisses in the distance

I waved back

my heart, terrified

leaving the sanctuary of my home

for the first time

to travel to a foreign land

and as if emotions weren’t running high enough

I was “randomly selected” for additional screening

yet again

I stepped aside as a female officer

took her hands

and ran them along my caramel body

as if I had consented to the humiliation

as if I had a choice

her touch was aggressive

as she patted me down

I looked into her pale face and wondered

if my brown face had set off alarms inside her head

as if the color of my skin meant

that there were explosives hidden in my jeans

or the college sweatshirt I wore

I wanted to tell her

that the weapons of mass destruction

were inside of her mind

and they were destroying my people

with their explosions of ignorance

I wanted to tell her that

I did not consent to be profiled

and neither did the 5-year-old child

that I saw her pull over and search

because her father was wearing a turban

I wanted to tell her that the way she looked at me

was dangerous

because I was sure that not every actual threat

was hiding behind brown skin

I wanted to tell her that though my body felt violated

it was my soul that felt more violated

But she was in a position of power

and I had to catch my flight

so I silenced the rage that boiled inside of me

and let myself become another hushed victim

of a security checkpoint