Thursday, February 11, 2010

I Didn't Write This

Go away, blank page.
Stop staring at me
   with your hole-punch eyes.
Turn yourself over.
Show me the writing on your back.

Stop taunting me
   with your whiteness.
I know what you want,
   paper persistance.
But he is not my ink
   and my hand clutches my pen just fine
   when not holding his.

Don't scream for semantics.
Stop begging me
   for words of disembodied need
   to drown in his constant torture
   to neglect my bigness
   to idolize him like my God,
when he is my equal.

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