Untitled My lips hurt today from being so still. Miles Davis blows grief-shaped kisses into the air from Kind of Blue. These dust-sized embraces should comfort me. But the heart-shaped emptiness in my mattress scars and etches itself into my veins over & over again until, three days later, I am pregnant with a sea of sadness. Bare The body heat, the bonfire, the bulky layers of clothes add an extra warmth as though a pack of dogs lay within me. But, then – sometimes I wish I could shed everything like snakeskin and love the cold, worn-down, tattooed skin that I am in for a month or two. Become just as bare as a reptile, have just as many hearts. A sob escapes then, a shade of moonlight, fractured. Broken clean from my throat like many wishbones. Taylor Gianfrancisco is a neurodivergent creator who dabbles in painting, music, and creative writing. She has had poems published in Vamp Cat, Royal Rose, and Bone & Ink. She is currently working on a micro-chapbook of poems about college life & her mental illness. You can find her on social media at @xoxo_tayleur.
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