I fight for my 8th grade teacher, who thought she was nothing without her husband.
I fight for the girl in my English class, who is emotionally abused by her boyfriend.
For the cleaning ladies, whose female immigrant status prevents them from getting a higher paying job.
For my professor, who has 3 degrees but still gets called Ms. instead of Dr.
I wail until my throat is sore and my bones ache for my sister, who cries when they boys make fun of her.
I scream for my aunt, whose five children keep her barefoot and in the kitchen.
For my next door neighbor, who was called a “towelhead” while walking her dog.
I write for the millions of women in prison, getting sub-par care and suffering daily abuses.
I pray for my mother, whose strength inspires me.
For my roommate, who frowns when she pinches the healthy fat on her waist.
I put up my fists and brawl for my cousin, who covers her bruises with cheap makeup and sunglasses.
I cry for my father, who doesn’t understand that I am not to blame for my rapist’s actions.
I fight for my best friend, whose tears she keeps locked up behind her eyelids.
I fight for my 13 year old self, who was told I needed to cover my shoulders.
I fight for you, my sisters.