Marlon Rachquel Moore | 2009 Poetry Honorable Mention

Writer’s Block

the vast emptiness of whiteness

on the page

reflects my lack of expression

the absence of joy

the absence of rage

& symbolizes the desert dryness

that remains

i am uneasy with this counterfeit peace

cause I think the poet in me

has fallen asleep

to god i say

i want to write a poem

but i don’t know where to start

will you hold my hand

while i pursue my voice?

i want to write a poem

enticingly sweet

like the aroma of peach cobbler

drifting from the kitchen

or a honeysuckle breeze

i want to compose a symphony of hyperbole

with intricate 9-part harmony

& a melody that lingers

like the memory of a lover’s caress

long after the hand is gone

with rhymes that surge & thrash like a river

hot wild waves crashing in holy rolling rhythm

like my slick sweaty body against my lover’s thigh

i wanna write a poem

that sprouts wings and takes flight

that grows a dick and spits white

that spreads its lips and births life

that has loved a man but takes a wife

inject the possibility of real intimacy

into my veins

paint seductive graffiti on my brain

till lyrical fantasies spill from my pores

baptizing me in a lusty flame

a poem that makes you anticipate

like that first kiss

that gets you high like that first hit

that gets you wet when you reminisce

cause it licks your thoughts & provokes your clit

i have to write this poem

for butch girls who look the world in the eyes

for femme soldiers fightin on the front lines

for stereotypes & undetectable dykes

for those daring to refuse labels

cause they fuck whomever they like

but especially for those still afraid to be

i want to write a poem that emancipates individuality

& removes the suffocating muzzle of shame

so we can all speak proudly our love’s name

but god if we speak

we might be pummeled with black power fists

or have our throats slit with a shiny crucifix

still I want to write this poem

want to see it sashay

round hips, thick thighs & full lips

like RuPaul on the runway

yet the vast emptiness of whiteness on this page

reflects the impossibility of my joy

the invisibility of my rage

i want to write my poem

but I don’t know where to start

god

please hold my hand

while I pursue my voice