a sample of written works:

by rebecca taylor,
from twitter and livejournal, circa 2014-2019.


13 april 2019

crisp february winds
peeling against
everything that was,
cleanse through
that dismal january.

rent out a hotel room
spend some time with
vulnerability and
hash it all out,
tendrils of hesitation
gripping for dear life

the flooding outside
pelts against aged windows
and vulnerability -
she lays a hand on
your shoulder, whispering
"please let me in."

the shattered pieces
glance up, make contact
why not? why,
when her antonym
has always backfired?

"vulnerability," from
the latin "vulnerare,"
to wound; it means,
exposing yourself,
opening yourself
to others who
might wound you.

"but, isn't it better,"
she murmurs,
arms wrapping around,
gluing pieces together,
"to risk wounds from others,
instead of this certainty
in wounding yourself?"

you are mistrustful,
only giving halfway.
but still she smiles
and the flooding
begins to recede

your cracked edges
soften in her hold,
and you know
even as you're
left alone again

she's left a part
of her within

|| ▻▻ (pause; fast-forward)

05 april 2014

where are the words?
the choking, the straining
the i'm not in control
of my own mouth.

the vocal cords tightening,
tiring tension rising,

it's building, building,
exploding, everything.
but then,
it stops.

echoes, words
over and over
within my brain.
that's it, that's
the words i know
so damned well.

repeating inside, but
connection's faulty
from brain to lungs
to vocalization,
overcome with
fraught emotions.

the world pauses,
just for moments
and then, finally,
it's "full-speed ahead, sir!"
the clock buckles,
hastens forward,

and i am left to catch up.


11 february 2014

Cracked blood hands, we
rush throughout days with
no care to the ones beside,
and we'll stumble through.
"Please don't forget,"
(us, though.)

Edges melt into blue
icy startling flakes, and
puffs of air are our
only source of heat,
brought back to us
by our own gloved
(still cracked

A freeze brings
along some isolation;
it's welcome, though in
heat and relief within
these patchy half-sturdy
walls (if only there were
some sort of fire.)

"It'll make its way,
through here and out,"
you say, hot breath
forming, spreading
out from your lips.
Trees will give life,
and the world will
burst forth again.

For now, though,
we keep trudging,
keys jingling towards
our warm solace.

nebraskan holies;

18 january 2014

I would; like you
said. Cover us both,
and straightedged winds
wouldn't destroy

The prairie is no place
for safety, for warmth,
there's something
(Maybe it's you.)

In the dusk these
jackrabbits make scarce
and western meadowlarks
erase the sky.
Where do we end?

Whistling out you pull
and gunfire echoes
and I'm crying and you
keep on going.
(Am I worse to follow?)

It's an invocation to
a flower standing ground,
and my hand kills it
just as I murmur, "amen."
We're both red,


Red, falling down. Sight
gone in midwest bull horn
you're still yelling, though.
Another crack and you
go quiet. I know better,
but not better enough.

At least the sunset
is given to me.

untitled words

at some cracked bone
the thin branch fell,
the pool sunk into
itself. red waters, red
everywhere. you
weren't there.

the world vanishes
within your cardigan.
the scent, the warmth,
the muted blue ocean of it,
and the sound of
your resting heartbeat.

watching, light
bursting just within
line of vision. you're
nothing but
more than beautiful;
even the air around
cannot fathom.

turntable slackens, shrill
to an ending. fingers intertwine
to rhythmic beats. we say
nothing, and the world

We were on the swingset when time crashed, and now - now we're just children in makeshift adult suits.