POETRY BY TAYLOR GIANFRANCISCO

​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. ​