As a young girl I would only respond to Sophia never Sophie
The single syllable meant everything
Before I could tie the string
on my shoes I knew my name
I knew my name the right way, the way where the A wasn’t ignored because it was my A
But now I turn my head to Sophie, to anything, to be obedient dog, not b-tch girl
To enter when called, called by anything remotely close to my name
Where did the frustr_tion go?
My p_ssion?
My bones, my everything are delic_tely strung pe_rls now _s it is unl_dylike for them not to be
_nd I smile bec_use you s_y it is not good for me not to be
Bec_use you’ll s_y wh_t is the m_tter Sophie? Sophia? So
I will say- so if I said that it is Sophia, actually
Would it change the way you see me?
Would it change the way you say my name?
Would you put blame on the A
Hatred on the A
Would the A rust there at the end of it all
By Sophia Fox
HOWLER LIT 