Brother, how dare you order me to stop to tuck my wrath away like a silk glove in a pocket when my child is painted with fingerprints cold lips blood-red shoved down her throat. you order your sister but not your brother to give my daughter her stolen life Brother, count the screams of maidens you have heard today-- they are virgins no more. we are not jewels not sculptures to be claimed buried away underground. Brother, if they call me a villain—let them. let them starve let them plead know what it feels to be a woman in this world. Amy Lin (she/her) is a fifteen-year-old Chinese-American writer from New Jersey. When she is not writing, you can find her enjoying word puzzles, painting, and eating home-cooked meals. Her poems are forthcoming in Rust & Moth and The Serulian. You can also find her on Twitter @amylwrites Comments are closed.
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