Marlee Miller is a queer, Black, activist, writer, puppeteer, and performer based in Brooklyn, New York. She draws inspiration for her work from love, dreams, social justice, mental illness, and the process of exploring identity. Marlee is a VONA (Voices of Our Nations Arts Foundation) alum and her poetry appears in Issue 117 of Sinister Wisdom: A Multicultural Lesbian Literary & Art journal. 

What do you love about writing?
Writing is very much a survival mechanism for me. I’ve always said that at times it’s hard for me as someone with bipolar disorder and anxiety to not ruminate on where I would be if I didn’t struggle with mental illness. But so much of my art is inspired by my neurodivergence, and in many ways, this is healing to think about. Here’s this thing that often makes my life so difficult, but it’s also something that illustrates and articulates the beauty that lives within vulnerability, sensitivity, and authenticity.

I have a lot of insecurities when it comes to talking and expressing thoughts and ideas verbally. My mind is often so fast and loud that I can’t hear what’s coming out of my mouth. This on top of the social anxiety that starts to build when I go to talk makes it really hard to convey the thought I’m trying to get across. The words come out wrong or I exclusively speak in speech-fillers or I choke on the foot in my mouth. But when I put pen to paper, I’m able to think about what I’m going to say. I’m able to speak the things I’m afraid to utter out loud. If you couldn’t tell, letters are one of my favorite forms to write in. I write them often, especially when I’m scared to tell someone something. I’m able to be intentional and honest in a way that feels impossible when I’m put on the spot. I even write letters that I don’t necessarily plan to give to the addressee. I have a drawer full of them! Writing helps me parse out what I’m feeling and tells me where to go from there.

What are you writing now?
I’m currently working on a manuscript that’s an epistolary memoir in the form of a series of one-sided letters addressed to the self-described “black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet, ” Audre Lorde. The letters respond to her body of work and the experiences of our collective culture. Many people have written extensively about Audre Lorde’s work and its lasting impact. But this memoir explores what that impact can look like on an intimate, individual level. As I started writing her letters, Lorde quickly became someone I could hold close to me whenever I needed her reassurance, insight, and love. She put words to experiences I’ve had as a Black, queer woman in a way that I’ve never been able to before. There were times where emotions that reside in the depths of my heart were dredged up by her words and I would have to put the book down and take a break and process. Writing her letters was part of that. Audre Lorde was one of the biggest catalysts when it came to me starting my journey towards self-love.

What else do you write?
I write a lot of love poems and love letters–most of them romantic, but I write platonic ones too, and sometimes they both intersect. I’m so fascinated and motivated by love, all the forms it comes in, and the many shapes it takes. Nikki Giovanni has written some of the best love poems I’ve ever read. I also have a profound connection to Nikki because she was a friend and collaborator of my grandfather’s, Don Miller. You can find a poem she wrote about one of his paintings called “For the Masai Warriors of Don Miller” in her book, Ego-tripping and Other Poems for Young People. Nikki also has a transformative book entirely dedicated to her love poems. “Resignation” is one of my favorites by her, and possibly my favorite love poem of all time.

Will you share a poem with us?

Mommy Issues

My audacious lover,
forever fueling
manic curiosity.
They let go of my hand.

It’s okay this time.

An open field
coaxes me with
loud, damp whisper.
Calling me to be wild.

Overgrown grass
welcomes my tenacious
bare feet.

I swear,
when wind forces
the jade blades
towards me, they
audibly beg me
to dance.

The land stretched out
in front of me, promises
abundance of radical
spontaneity.

As if asking me
to leave my lover
for her.

I consider it.

She assures me
she will take my
baggage too.

For she herself
is stolen.
She too is hurting and
breathes with
great trepidation.

Carelessly we have
filled her lungs with
thick, unrelenting smoke
whose laughter is
unsettling and cruel.

A stranger she never
invited into her home.

As unwelcome as
the apathetic oil, dragging
itself slowly through
her once-clean waters.

Her pain is an ancient pain.
Irreversible in nature.

And we are the last ones
she expects to heal her.

Despite it all, she
attempts to seduce me
with her deep emerald
allure and sky blue charm.

I am hypnotized by
her sunset colored hair.

A few moments pass
before I look out at her
with earnest gaze.

Bewildered, I ask her,
“How can you still want me?”

Can you describe what it looks like when you write?
Honestly, it feels like a lot of the time my process is kind of messy. This goes for all the mediums I work in, including writing. I believe this has changed a bit as I’ve gotten older, but I tend to be disorganized and there are often times when the inspiration to create hits me in the middle of dramatic, emotional outburst. When I need to get it OUT. However, like I said, recently I’ve been able to cultivate a better, more productive writing practice. I feel like my writing process is at a turning point. I’m learning a lot about myself and what works and doesn’t work. 

One major thing is in the past I’ve had a hard time following through with projects because I get excited about too many. I want to do everything all at once. And although I desperately wish I could be one of those people who that works for, I’m trying to just accept and embrace that I’m not. Quality over quantity right? This has been a really hard thing for me to stick to, but I’ve found that when I focus on one or two things at a time, and make a commitment to finishing those things before moving onto something else, it really helps. I’ve also realized that it’s imperative for me to set aside days that I just dedicate to reading without putting pressure on myself to write. An incredible writing mentor I have named Nicole Shawan Junior said to me in a feedback session that “reading is writing.” Reading is essential for getting us writers to settle into that writer-brain.

How is writing like sex?
Audre Lorde says in her essay, “Uses of the Erotic” that for her, there is “no difference between writing a good poem and moving into the sunlight against the body of a woman I love.” As someone who has felt the ecstasy that comes after writing a poem you’re proud of, a poem you are desperate to share with anyone who will listen, this quote really resonates with me. Writing has this visceral intimacy in the same way that sex can. I think of all the poems I’ve read that activate all my senses or cause that tingling sensation. There are those moments when you read or hear a powerful stanza or line and without meaning to, you let out an audible moan or gasp. Poems live in the mind and body, and that sensation can be shared with many others. I think writing and sex are different in that writing might involve less fluids?

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I coax sexy writers like Marlee Miller to reveal their creative secrets and processes in interviews to inspire you:

• Keep up with Marlee’s work on her website.

• Read Marlee’s poems “Femmes Loving Femmes (A List of Thoughts)” and ”Even On 150 Mg of Lamictal” and my essay, “Finding Roost,” in issue 117 of Sinister Wisdom.

• Read Nikki Giovanni’s poem “Resignation.” 

• Hear Audre Lorde read her essay, “Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic As Power.”

Feeling inspired? Book a private session with me, The Sexy Grammarian. You always leave private sessions with homework and inspiration, and the first session is always free.