Category: Writing

Sophea T. Amari

Not A Feminist

I don’t profess to be A feminist But a lover of humanity and what can be Liberosis, in the clasps of a tryst, Or whatever woebegone misery the world thrusts upon my heaving shoulders. I don’t profess to hate A patriarch But a lover of equality, equity And all that should be For I am …

Sophea T. Amari

N.41

Bliss and sweet escape His hallowed lips but nothing Changes what I hate.

Sophea T. Amari

N.95

He never said much My hands were all that he touched Beneath the black muck.

Sophea T. Amari

Is that alright with you?

If I gave you my Heart, dripping with dark Love If I flushed out my Shame, awkward with Crime If I begged for your Grace, breaking with Bad If I loaded my Glock, pulsing with Poison If I trashed your place, lie with the Waste Is that alright with you?

Sophea T. Amari

Fleur Cinematic

Fleetingly, frolicking in the light of the final flatfoots Fleur-de-lys flipping ‘neath your fixated frown Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum, fumes the giant hungry for Englishmen Your flushed ferrels flummoxed but Free.  

Sophea T. Amari

Bebop

Bebop, you who challenged my soul, changed my world Far from this levitious crowd and tormented bold Where words are pearls and your life is gold. Like Primo Levi’s survival in Auschwitz Who flipped this path? I’m a melancholic witch Razing this Earth, recognizing, you, my glitch.  

Sophea T. Amari

Quick. Rolling.

When we go rolling along the grass, the pollen in our eyes, I grab your hand and you become the Sima Martel of my being. It is a depression on the surface of Earth, a sink-hole of not-quite-there uncomfortable romance, where you leave me neck-deep in sweetness and struggling light. As my fingers slip through …