puddles
poem by Chris Taylor
fluent in interference,
i seep into skin that doesn’t belong to me,
cower in my presence, knowing i am a lie,
too big to stay in my body in peace, in calm,
i have crashed to the ground
too many days to care about the way it hurts,
i’ve died more times than i have lived,
i’ve seen more hate than i could give at my lowest,
would have done anything
to capture that disintegrating feeling,
maybe it would let me float, for once,
i could see myself less blurry, see the ground below me,
if i wash away the blood on the pavement,
it doesn’t fade, it spreads, contaminates the puddles
filled with me and my regrets, the gore
will dry and leave remains that tell the story of my illness,
please stop praising me, please, it
just makes me fall faster, malnourished and cold,
i’m too old to be aided like this, i can’t see you fail to try and lift me up, i’m too heavy to be saved, just get inside, i’m scared to hurt you.
Chris Taylor is a young writer who creates poetry as a coping mechanism, sharing it as a way to connect with others. In their spare time, they enjoy spending time around dogs, family, and listening to electronic and alternative music.
