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Ameerah Holliday Dec 2018
You are our new favorite swear word.
Noun: A tool.

They have stopped existing in shades of Lavender - hearts don’t get sent anymore.

And no one wants to read a love poem.

Or see a Colored Girl’s Rainbow bowed broken
beneath the weight of the egotistic.
The simplistic.

Residing in kingdoms of accusation
heartbreaks - a spectrum of Mauve. But they don't send hearts - anymore.

It's a hashtag - an anniversary. Let
them right it - your tombstone: Hear lies

a label maker - Heartless
promise breaker - Liar who lay in wait
bruise colored suicide, bombing hope - wrapped up in hate. Rumor has it, we don't send hearts anymore.

Or scream. Or speak. Blocked

your throat – and ceased to exist.

and no matter how much we beg, do not feed the lion.
You only accept amethyst stained hearts anyway.
Ameerah Holliday Dec 2017
When the darkness came,
     They all forgot light -
     fear seems to suffocate
     and what’s left is not right.
They held their fist
     back lashed in what
     They know, set aside their freedom
     and forgot that They could glow.
Ameerah Holliday Aug 2017
Hang me.
By my tongue from
the Tree of Life.
                 ​Repeat to me
​                  definitions of equality.
Let injustice drip
honey from my fingers
        ​ to remind me of purity
         ​that comes.
​                             Color,
let Eve curse
and Adam condemn
       ​ no man of his.
                   ​Baptised in red of
​                   the read,
         ​bathed in consciousness:
         ​what difference
​                             looks
​                    Know companion.
       ​No compassion.
Syllables strangled
                 ​the rawness of
​                 Rope. Burn. Words
                            ​ask again
      ​what it looks like.
Previously published in 2014-15 San Diego Poetry Annual. For correct formatting please view that version.
Ameerah Holliday Nov 2016
is the barred mind
of a Girl
of a Boy.    

Colored prints
of my colored prints,
and America wasn’t great
to those whose hands build it.    

And their anthem plays on,
disguising detestation as protection
resentful the Sun’s
never made love to their complexion.
Ameerah Holliday Oct 2016
And I fell
for all the things I imagined
She would be,

and that girl
wonders how to love the one
She became.
Ameerah Holliday Nov 2015
Shh, listen.
Did you hear it?

Its disturbing echo
inching down your spine.
Its chilling breath at the
nape of your neck.  

Snaking through my mind,
creeping in like fog.
Seeping through the floor,
spilling secrets like blood.  

Sounds of a clock
muffled by cotton.
Cloaked, it hammers
growing louder.  

Can’t you hear it?
The thumping it emits.
Shuddering through my frame,
suffocation, blame!  

It’s growing louder!
Uttering secrets only I know.
Acute are the senses
that hear its woe.  

Pounding away all thoughts,
persistent, Its haunts.
Shattering midnight it stalks,
nightmarish pillow talk.  

It grows, my skin pales.
louder and louder it wales!
A dead man’s heart yells,
telling its tale.  

Say that I am mad, do you?
If only you knew,
I hear things in hell, it’s true.
Don’t you hear it too?
Homage to Edgar Allen Poe's A Tell-Tale Heart

Copywrite 2013 Fall Aztec Literary Review, San Diego State University
Ameerah Holliday Nov 2015
City ablaze with light,  
and souls.  
And an acoustic guitar  
molten words  
an unfamiliar language of a  
Melody’s essence awakening.  
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