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