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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