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3 min readMay 3, 2026

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## My Name is "Mya"
**(By Thitsar Linn)**

Under the fluctuating price of human value,
Pounded countless times in the genitals until death—
My name is "Mya."

My name is "Mya."
Dying by day, resurrected by night,
I am the snack for all of you.

My name is "Mya."

I never sent myself to any fancy shop,
And I never gave a damn about anyone.
Even if the moon fails to shine tonight,
I’ve painted my lips a vivid, bloody red.
My name is "Mya."
Mark it well in your minds.
My name is "Mya."

Under this name "Mya,"
Shall I wither and fall for you like a flower?
Shall I intoxicate you like a narcotic?
If required, I will moan softly like cigarette smoke
Between your chest.
When your lust is sated, toss me away like a used condom.

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My name is "Mya."
If you call out the name "Mya,"
You can price me like a fish
Out of your wife’s shopping basket.
My name is "Mya."
Showing the red light to life,
I dwell beneath the dim, murky glows.

Sometimes,
When that thing called "Love"
Screams out like a blood-frenzied delirium,
I find myself answering to my own name, over and over.
My name is Mya.
On every one of my signposts,
It is written: "Ends with Happiness."
I invite you to come and visit.
But...
When you leave,
Take only the happiness and the endings with you.

My name is "Mya."
Whether you say I flirt with the night, cigarette between my fingers,
Or say I am a thing that pretends to forget every page,
Whether you call my torn, ravaged genitals
Shameless or worthless—
My name is "Mya."

In this nauseating world,
While your lustful mouths are busy auctioning me off,
In your wars of "Love,"
My breasts are being conquered more and more.
Amidst the things you pretend not to know,
I have trampled myself down.
As long as my genitals have not gained independence,
I will not sell to you on credit.

While everyone is in a deep, covetous sleep,
Relieving themselves with the sound of their own breath,
I am the one who becomes a "Green Spirit" (Nat Sein), haunting your dreams.
My name is Mya.
Quietly, as "Mya,"
I’ve put myself up on the sales ledger.
But I was never on the list of those "Not for sale to those under 18."

My name is Mya.
When I wave goodbye and head home,
The world still reeks of a fishy stench.
Me—
I think about the fish drowning in shallow waters in the dead of summer,
And I giggle, believing in myself.
And then,
When someone says "Humans are animals in a pay-to-enter zoo,"
They start to pity me all over again.
Ripping apart the hungry laughter,
I peel off my own face.
Only then,
Does the sky turn silent and still with your finished desires.

My name is Mya.
While you all call these "underage breasts" "Love"
With words that have been raped and violated,
In reality,
Those fumbling, groping hands... were actually mine.
This time,
I am
No longer a poem on a T-shirt.
I am the bullet that will blow your brains to pieces.
After I have worshipped myself...
Your religion became nothing more than a set of genitals.

Growing up through days of being "used,"
While you were busy savoring the "Search."
I told you before...
Genitals don't know how to kill.
"I" and "Mya" are biological sisters of different natures.
Whatever happened, happened.
After you have bought and consumed,
Don't forget to tuck the cash between my buttocks, Gentleman.

My name is "Mya."

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*(Translated from the original Burmese poem by Thitsar Linn, 25.4.2017)

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