My brother cannot be found, not without the government garnishing his wages.
My brother creeps into a corner and cries foul when reminded of his responsibility.
My brother is: "A thousand percent sure that this baby is not mine!"
My brother sold me out decades ago because I remind him of his roots.
My brother's roots are black and deep and they threaten his chances of rising.
My brother's children are made in my reflection and they, unfortunately, need support.
My brother doesn't know how oppressed he is and I don't have time to explain the finer points.
My brother must know that I am oppressed too, I am a dark woman working on one thing at a time.
My brother must know that the world doesn't love me because of those two strikes.
My brother makes a living off my image that is his own.
My brother doesn't know how low he has sunk.