By T. Grisdale
Another baby dead for being the wrong gender.
Another young girl raped for the lace lined in her underwear.
Another woman imprisoned for defending herself.
Another one of us dead for the DNA coursing through our fucking veins.
But most of all,
It demands I hold a repressed anger in the palms of my sweaty hands.
The hands that birthed you,
That hold up the whole damned sky for you.
And pray you don’t see,
Don’t femi-nazi me.